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AUTHOR: 


ARISTOTLE 


TITLE: 


RHETORIC,  POETIC,  AND 
NICOMACHEAN  ... 

PLACE: 

LONDON 

DA  TE : 

1818 


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Arictoooles. 

The  Rhetoric,  Poetic  and  ::iconachcan  ethics 
of  Aristotle,  translated  fro:r.  the  Groek,  ^uy 
Ihonas  Taylor  ...   London,  -rintsd  hy  A.  J. 
Valpy  ...  for  James  Elach,  1018. 

2d  ed. 


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1 

si 

J. 
I : 

I 


THE 


RHETORIC,    POETIC, 


AND 


NICOMACHEAN    ETHICS 


OF 


ARISTOTLE. 


Arist. 


VOL.  I. 


a 


?^^'^%K^;.  ■ 


(X>lAit?'<fi^^ 


/V 


^ 


^ 


VS? 


P«., ....  .^^^^  ,ii.^.i^.,>«..^.^>^A^-^g||^| 


THE 


RHETORIC,     POETIC5 


AND 


NICOMACHEAN    ETHICS 


OF 


ARISTOTLE, 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  GREEK. 


BY  THOMAS  TAYLOR, 


TWO  VOLUMES. 
VOL.  I. 


JOVE   HONOURS   ME,   AND   FAVOURS    MY    DESIGNS. 

Pope's  Homer's  Iliad,  Book  9th,  v.  717. 


LONDON  c 

Printed  by  A.  J.  Valpy,  Tooke's  Court,  Chancery  Lane, 
FOR  JAMES  BLACK  AND  SON,  TAVISTOCK  STREET, 


COVENT    GARDEN. 


1818. 


V 


.1 


I 


ADVERTISEMENT 


TO 


THE   SECOND   EDITION. 


Having  in  the  Introduction  to  this  work  said 
all  that  I  deem  sufficient  respecting  the  nature 
and  merit  of  the  following  works  of  Aristotle, 
I  rejoice  that  I  am  able  to  adduce  the  testimony 
of  Dr.  Copleston,  now  Provost  of  Oriel  Col- 
lege, in  favour  of  my  translation  of  these  trea- 
tises, as  he  is  one  of  the  brightest  ornaments  of 
the  University  of  Oxford. 


i 


^*r^ 


VI 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


This  testimony  is  contained  in  a  letter  to  me, 
dated  Oriel  College,  March  8.  1811,  and  is  as 
follows : 

*^  You  will  not  expect  from  me  any  of  that 
microscopic  criticism,  in  which  the  gentry  we 
have  been  speaking  of  delight  to  indulge.  I  per- 
ceive in  your  translation,  wherever  I  examine  it, 
that  prime  virtue  of  a  translator ,  a  complete  suh» 
ordination  and  subserviency  to  his  original ; — no 
tampering  with  the  exact  meaning  in  order  to 
evade  a  difficulty,  or  to  round  a  period.  There  is 
also  a  manly  plainness  and  integrity  which  com^ 
mands  respect ;  and  I  have  seen  enough  to  con- 
vince me  that  a  student  will  derive  satisfac- 
tion often,  from  the  literal  rendering  you  have 
adopted. 


"  The  Introduction  I  read  with  particular 
attention,  as  also  the  Notes  on  the  Poetic.  No- 
thing can  be  clearer,  more  correct,  or  more 
philosophical,  than  the  view  you  give  of  the 
true  nature  of  all  the  subjects  of  these  treatises. 

I 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


rir 


Of  dialectic  in  particular,  it  is  wonderful  how 
erroneous  and  confused  the  opinions  of  men 
in  the  present  day  are. 

*^  Let  me  also  add  that  your  explanation  of 
the  celebrated  definition  of  Tragedy  strikes  me 
as  no  less  just  than  ingenious.  Twining  is  in- 
genious ;  but  after  all  his  diffuse  dissertation,  I 
used  to  feel  dissatisfied.  You  have,  I  think, 
offered  an  admirable  solution,  although  a  little 
difficulty  still  hangs  about  the  word  rmoinoov. 
Your  sense,  however,  I  adopt  as  the  best  which 
has  ever  been  proposed.'' 


■% 


VIII 


Lately  pMished  by  the  same  Ajuthor,  and  may  be  had 

of'  the  same  booksellers, 


A  TRANSLATION  OF  THE  SIX  BOOKS  OF  PROCLUS, 
ON  THE  THEOLOGY  OF  PLATO;  to  which  a  Seventh  Book 
is  added,  in  order  to  supply  the  deficiency  of  anotlier  Book  on  this 
subject,  which  was  written  by  Proclus,  but  since  lost ;  also  a  trans^ 
lation  of  Proclus'  Elements  of  Theology^  In  these  Volumes  is  also 
included,  a  Translation  of  the  Treatise  of  Proclus,  on  Providence 
and  Fate ;  a  Translation  of  Extracts  from  his  Treatise  entitled. 
Ten  Doubts  concerning  Providence  ;^  and,  a  Translation  of  Ex- 
tracts from  his  Treatise  on  the  Subsistence  of  Evil ;  as  preserved 
in  the  Bibliotheca  Gr.  of  Fabricius.  In  2  vols,  royal  quarto. 
230  Copies  only  Printed.   Price  5l.  10s. 


SELECT  WORKS  OF  PLOTINUS,  the  great  restorer  of  the 
Philosophy  of  Plato  :  and  extracts  from  the  Treatise  of  Synesius 
On  Providence^  translated  from  the  Greek;  with  an  introduction 
containing  the  substance  of  Porphyry's  Life  of  Plotinus.  Price 
18s.  boards. 


INTRODUCTION* 


THEORETIC  ARITHMETIC,  in  three  Books ;  containing  the 
substance  of  all  that  has  been  written  on  this  subject  by  Theo  of 
Smyrna,  Nicomachus,  lamblichus,  and  Boctius.  Together  with 
some  remarkable  particulars  respecting  perfect,  amicable,  and  other 
numbers,  which  are  not  to  be  found  in  the  writings  of  any  ancient 
or  modern  mathematicians.  Likewise  a  ispecimen  of  the  manner 
in  which  the  Pythagoreans  philosophized  about  numbers;  and 
a  developement  of  their  mystical  and  theological  arithmetic* 
8vo.  14s. 


The  three  treatises  of  which  the  present  volume 
consists,  have  been  deservedly  considered  by 
the  ancients  as  ranking  in  the  first  class 
of  the  most  exquisite  productions  of  human 
wit;  and  even  in  the  present  frivolous  age 
they  maintain  so  high  a  degree  of  reputation, 
as  to  be  studied  at  the  University  of  Ox- 
ford.  Indeed,  so  much  penetration  and  pro- 
fundity of  thought  are  displayed  in  the  compo- 
sition of  each,  that  the  reader  by  whom  they 


Arist. 


VOJ..  I, 


iV.  ,. 


11 


INTRODUCTION. 


are  thoroughly  understood,  will  immediately 
subscribe  to  the  encomium  given  to  the  Stagi- 
rite  by  the  great  Syrianus,  that  he  was  the  most 
akilful  and  the  most  proUjic  in  his  conceptions  of 
all  men,  (hivoTaros  koli  yovtiuoTOLTog ;)  and  also  to 
the  assertion  of  another  of  the  ancients,  which 
njay  be  considered  as  the  7ie  plus  ultra  of  eulogy, 
that  he  dipped  his  pen  in  intellect. 

I.  With  respect  to  Rhetoric,  which  forms  the 
first  of  these  treatises,  it  is  very  nearly  allied  to 
dialectic '  properly  so  called,  and  which  is  the 
subject  of  the  Topics  of  Aristotle ;  and,  there- 
fore, in  order  to  explain  the  nature  of  rhetoric, 
it  will  be  requisite  to  compare  it  with  dialectic, 
and  see  in  what  they  both  agree,  and  in  what 
they  differ. 

Dialectic  then  is  denominated  from  disputing, 
and  is  the  art  of  disputing ;  but  rhetoric  derives 
its  name  from  speaking,  and  is  the  art  of  speak- 

*  Aristotle  calls  dialectic,  that  art  which  is  explained  by  him 
ill  his  Topics  and  Sophistical  Elenchi.  M^ 


11 

ing.     The  art  of  - 
the  ability  of  if 
side  of  a   propc. 
•speaking  consists 
the  hearer  to  assen 

From  this  definition 
the  subject  of  dialectic 
it  is  disputable  with  pn« 
and  that    the   subject  of^ 
so  far  as  it  can  be  influence. 

In  the  second  place,  it  maj  , 
dialectic  and  rhetoric  agree  in  tL 
discusses  every  thing;  that  each  discv 
sides  of  a  question  ;  and  that  each  proc 
from  what  is   true,  but  from  what  is  pro.. 
For  of  the  two  parts  of  a  problem  contradi,, 
rilj  opposed  to  each  other,  the  one  is  necessa 
rilj  false ;  but  dialectic  and  rhetoric  discuss  and 
defend  each  part  of  a  problem.     Hence  they 
not  only  prove  and  defend  what  is  true,  but  also 
what  is  false.    As  what  is  false,  however,  can- 
not be  proved  and  defended  from  true,  but  only 


d  dialectic 

m  probable 

^s,  that  each 

are  proper  or 

common.     For 

juld  discuss  any 

.rities,  they  Avould 

nces.    To  which  it 

aght  to  use  princi- 

€  proposed  problemsr 

/Bmon  principles  alone 

i.     Another  reasoa  is, 

/uss  things   from    priaci- 

Aien,   and  known  even  tQ 

/ant  of  plarticular  sciences, 

;tic  and  rhetoric  agree  in  this, 

business  of  each  to  deliver  certain 

/^aces,  or  principles,  from  which  we 

^able  to  dispute  on  any  proposed  pro- 

4  or  speak  in  a  manner  adapted  to  persuade 

^  each   side  of  a  question.    They  likewise 

ftgree  in  this,  that  they  are  not  sciences,  but 

certain  powers  and   faculties.      For  sciences 


/ 


r 


IN 

ucither  prove,  nc 
each  part  of  con 
which  is  true,  an 
but   the   power  o 
both   by   dialectic 
ijr€  not  sciences,  but 
those  things  are  proj, 
which  are  equally  affec. 

Dialectic  and  rhetoric,  h. 
that  it  is  the  business  of  tht" 
with  probabihty  before  those  wh<^ 
wise ;  but  of  the  latter,   to  speak  iu 
adapted   to  persuade  the  multitude. 
cause  it  is  usual  to  dispute  with  those  who. 
partiallj  wise,  about  universal  problems,  at. 
stracting  from  particular  circumstances  of  per- 
sons,  places  and  times,  &c. ;  but  to  dispute  with 
the   multitude   about  moral  or  political  sub- 
jects, and  about  problems  restricted  to  particu- 
lar persons,  places  and  times;  hence  dialectic 
for  the  most  partdiscusses  universal,  and  rhetoric 
restricted  problems.  Thej  also  differ  in  this,  that 
dialectic  employs  a  strict  and  contracted  form 


ta^,-  .^'±^-^ 


^— taM|i|ii^.__  _^  III'    1'^^^ 


>le  and  di- 

third  place 

ments  alone 

ish  ;  but  rhe- 

iding  not  only 

ise  manners  and 

ly  evinces  in  the 


.e  Poetic,  the  next  of 
4ui3ite   to   observe,   that 
/litating  in  measured  diction 
aght.  *  The  proximate  genus, 
.      jtryis,.that  it  is  an   imitative 
difference,  through  which  it  differs 
.r  imitative  arts,  is  the  mode  of  imir 
y  For  as  the  other  imitative  arts  imitate 
.  different  modes,  poetry  imitates  by  metre,  or 
measured  diction  alone. 

From  this  definition,  explaining  the  nature  of 
poetry,  it  may  be  briefly  inferred  what  the 
subject  of  it  is,  and  what  its  employment  and 
end.     The  subj^ect  of  poetry  are  things,  so  far  as 


INTRODUCTION. 


Vll 


ificy    can    be   imitated   in  measured  diction  and 
produce  delight.     The  employment  of  poetry  is, 
the  imitation  itself.     And  the  end  is,  the  delight 
produced  hy   the  metrical  imitation    of  things. 
Hence  it  follows  that  poetry  ought  especially 
\^    to  imitate  those  things,  the  imitation  of  which 
^s  most  delightful.     But  the  imitation  of  admi- 
ible  and  probable  deeds  is  most  delightful,  and 
v^ich,    therefore,   poetry   ought  principally  to 
im'-jtate.    In  order,  however,  to  imitate  these,  it 
is  ii^quisite,  in  the  first  place,  that  it  should  de- 
vise  admirable  and  probable  deeds  ;  and  in  tho 
next  place,  that  it  should  express  them  in  ad^ 
mirable  diction,  such  as  is  the  metrical.    Hence 
the  labour  of  poetry  ought  especially  to  be  con- 
versant in  these  two  things ;  first,  in  the  inven- 
tion of  the  fable,  viz.  of  admirable  and  probable 
deeds  ;  and  secondly,  in  expressing  such  deeds 
in  a  measured  diction  which  is  eminently  adapt- 
ed to   them,  or  in  other  words,  which  is  emir 
nently  imitative  of  the  several  particulars. 

It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  this  treatise, 
which  was^  perhaps  originall}'' only  the 'first  of 


I 


\^1U 


INTRODUCTIOlif. 


three  books  written  by  Aristotle  on  poetry,  is 
all  that  is  left  of  a  work,   the  whole  of  which 
was  doubtless  as  admirable  as  the  part  that  re- 
mains.    And  the  loss  of  the  second  and  third 
books  is  particularly  to  be  regretted,  because 
there  can   be  no   doubt   of  Aristotle    having 
treated  in  one  of  these  books  of  the  purification^ 
of  the  mind  from  depraved  affections,  and  r*^ 
the  correction  of  the  manners,  as  the  princifiri 
and  proper  end,  according  to  the  antieptSy  of 
right  poetical  imitation.     I  say  this  loss  is  |)ar- 
xrc«kMply.i^:hc  regretted,   not  only  on  account 
of  the  importance  of  the  master,  and  the  very 
able  manner  in  which  it  was  discussed,  bcit  be- 
cause an  elucidation  of  the  mode  in  which  the 
mind  is  to  be  purified  from  depraved  affections, 
would  have  fully  solved  a  difficulty  which  oc- 
curs in  the  present  treatise,  and  which  has  been 
insuperable   to   modern   commentators.      The 
difficulty  I  allude  to  is  the  assertion  of  Aristo- 
tle, that  the  terror   and  pity  excited  by  tragedy 
purify  the  spectator  from  such-like  passions.  For, 
according  to  the  modern  commentators  on  this 
treatise,  the  meaning  of  Aristotle  is,  that  the 


INTRODUCTION^ 


IX 


terror  and  pity  excited  by  tragedy,  purify  the 
spectator  from  terror  and  pity.  The  reader^ 
however,  will  find  in  a  note  on  this  passage  in 
the  following  translation,  that  this  cannot  be  the 
meaning  of  Aristotle,  as  it  contradicts  wbat  he 
asserts  in  his  Ethics ;  and  I  also  trust  that  he 
^ill  subscribe  to  the  opinion  of  the  translator, 
tliat  Aristotle  meant  to  say,  that  the  terror  and 
pi)if  excited  by  tragedy  purify  the  spectator  from 
tho^e  perturbations  which  form  the  catastrophe 
ofth^  tragedy.  Thus  in  the  Ajax  of  Sophocles, 
the  te*Tor  and  pity  excited  by  the  ratacfropix^^ 
purify  the  spectator  from  anger  and  impiety 
towards  divinity;  and  in  a  similar  manner  puri- 
fication is  effected  in  other  tragedies. 


Notwithstanding,  however,  the  loss  sustained 
"by  the  want  of  the  2d  and  3d  bocks  of  the 
Poetic  of  Aristotle,  I  rejoice  that  there  is  still 
extant  a  most  admirable  account  of  the  different 
species  of  poetry  by  Proclus,  the  coryphaeus, 
next  to  Pluto  and  Aristotle,  of  all  true  philoso- 
phers, whose  honour  will  grow  with  increase  of 
time,  and  whose  fame  will  swim  over  the  vj^st 


fe 


XJSTKODUCTlOiSr. 


INTRODUCTION. 


xi 


/ 


extent  of  ages,  when  those,'  by  whom  he  has 
been  defamed  will  be  utterly  forgotten.  This 
account  is  extracted  from  his  bx  planation  of 

THE     MORE     PIFFICULT     QUESTIONS     IN     THE 

Republic  of  Plato,  printed  at  the  end   of 
his   Commentaries   On  the  Timaeus   of  Plato,  /' 
which  Fabricius,  the  best  of  all  modern  critics/^ 
calls  OPUS  admirabile;  and  the  translation  pf 
it  is  as  follows :  'a 

i  .. 

"  There  are  three  lives  in  the  soul,  of  \\)4)ich 
tilt,  boct  and  most  perfect  is  that  according  to 
which  it  is  conjoined  with  the  gods,  and  Htcs 
a  Jifc  most  allied,  and  through  the  highest 
simiHtude  united  to  them;  no  longer  subsisting 
from  itself  but  from  them,  running  under  its 
own  intellect,  exciting  the  ineffable  impression 
of  the  one  which  it  contains,  and  connecting  like 
with  like,  its  own  light  with  that  of  the  gods, 
and  that  which  is  most  uniform  in  its  own 
essence  and  life,  with  the  one  which  is  above  all 

« 

'  Viz.  All  those  whom  Swift  so  admirably  satirizes  in  his 
Tale  of  a  Tub;  under  the  appellation  of  true  critics. 


essence  and  life.  That  which  is  second  to  this 
•in  dignity  and  power,  has  a  middle  arrangement 
in  the  middle  of  the  soul,  according  to  which, 
indeed,  it  is  converted  to  itself,  descending  from 
a  divinely. inspired  life,  and  placing  intellect 
vand  science  as  tlje  principle  of  its  energy,  it 
wolves  the  multitude  of  its  reasons,  surveys  the 
all-various  mutations  of  forms,  collects  into 
sameness  intellect  and  that  which  is  the  object 
of  intellect,  and  expresses  in  images  an  intellec- 
tual and  intelligible  essence.  The  third  life  of 
tlie  son]  is,  that  which  accords  with  its  inferior 
powers,  and  eaergizes  together  with  them,  em- 
ploying phantasies  and  irrational  senses,  and 
being  entire;]y  filled  with  things  of  a  subordinate 
natu're. 

**  As  there  are,  therefore,  these  thjee  forms  of 
life  in  souls,  the  poetic  division,  also,  supernally 
proceeds  together  with  the  nmltiform  lives  of  the 
soul,  and  is  diversified  into  first,  middle,  and 
last  genera  of  energy.  For  of  poetry,  also,  one 
kind  has  the  highest  subsistence,  is  full  of  divint^ 


xu 


INTRODUCTIOYr^ 


INTRODUCTIO:?^- 


XUl 


goods,  and  establishes  the  soul   in  the  causes 
themselves  of  things,  according  to  a  certain  iri-; 
effable  union,  leading  that  which  is  filled  into 
sameness  with  its  replenishing  source ;  the  for- 
mer immaterially  subjecting  itself  to  illumina- 
tion, but  the  latter  being  incited  to  a  communi'*  J 
cation  of  light ;  thus,  according  to  the  Oracl< 
*  perfecting   works,  by  mingling    the  rivers  ^f 
incorruptible  fire/    It  also  produces  one  divibe 
bond,  and  a  unifying  mixture  of  that  whicK  is 
participated  and  the  participant,   estabiisming 
the  whole  of  that  vvhich  is  subordinate  ia  th^t 
which   is  more  excellent,   and  preparing  that 
which  is  more  divine  alone  to  energize,  the  infe-. 
rior  nature  being  withdrawn,  and  concealing  its 
own  peculiarity  in  that  which  is  superior.     This 
then  in  short  is  a  mania  better  than  temperance, 
and  is  distinguished  by  a  divine  characteristic. 
And  as  every  different  kind  of  poetry  subsists 
according  to  a  different  hyparxis,  or  summit  of 
divine  essence,  so  this  fills  the  soul  energizing 
from  divine  inspiratioB,  with  symmetry ;  and 
hence  it  adorns  its  last  energies  with  measures 


and  rhythms.  As,  therefore,  we  say  that  pro- 
phetic fiiry  subsists  according  to  truth,  and  the 
amatory  according  to  beauty,  in  like  manner 
we  say  that  the  poetic  mania  is  defined  accord- 
ing to  divine  symmetry. 


**  The  second  kind  of  poetry,  which  is  subor- 
dilxate  to  this  first  and  divinely-inspired  species, 
^nc^  which  has  a  middle  subsistence  in  the  soul, 
is  allotted  its  essence  according  to  a  scientific 
and  intellectual  habit.  Hence,  it  knows  the 
essence  of  things,  and  loves  to  contemplate 
beautiful  works  and  reasonings,  and  leads  forth 
every  thing  into  a  measured  and  rhythmical  in- 
terpretation. For  you  will  find  many  progeny 
of  good  poets  to  be  of  this  kind,  emulous  of 
those  that  are  truly  wise,  full  of  admonition,  the 
best  counsels,  and  intellectual  symmetry.  It 
likewise  extends  the  communication  of  pru- 
dence and  every  other  virtue,  to  those  of  a  natu- 
rally good  disposition,  and  affords  a  reminis- 
cence of  the  periods  of  the  soul,  of  its  eternal 
reasons  and  various  powers. 


ii!K:-w!;,iiiiiiaa!Bliri3i>aia».tf~  ■acafa*«»<MMi!Mitfe  flw^aaaiBiiaasM 


MV 


INTROBUCTION. 


r. 


"  The  third  species  qf  poetry  subsequent  ta^ 
these,  is  mingled  with  opinions  and  phantasies, 
receives  its  completion  through  imitation,  and 
is  said  to  be  and  is  nothing  else  than  imitative 
poetry.     At  one  time,  it  alone  uses  assimilation, 
and  at  another  time  defends  apparent  and  not 
real  assimilation.     It  considerably  raises  v( 
moderate   passions,   and    astonishes    the  hdkr- 
crs  ;    together    with    appropriate    appellations 
and    words,  mutations  of  harmonies   andj  va- 
rieties of  rhythms,  changes  the  dispositions  of 
souls;  and   indicates  the  nature  of  things    not 
sucli  as  they  are,  but  such  a*  they  appear  to  the 
many  ;  being  a  certain  adumbration  and  not  an 
accurate  knowledge  of  things:     It  also  estab- 
lishes as  its  end,  the  delight  of  the  hearers  ;  and 
particularly  looks   to   the  passive  part  of  the 
soul,  which  is  naturally  adapted  to  rc^joice  and 
be  afflicted.     But  of  this  species  of  poetry,  as 
we  have  said,  one  division  is  asmnilative^  which 
is  extended  to  rectitude  of  imitation,  but  the 
other  is  phantastic,  and  afForils  apparent  imita- 
tion alone. 


TNTrvODUCTIO:^^^. 


XV 


"  Such  tlren,  in  short,  are  the  genera  of  poetry. 
It  now  remains  to  show  that  these  are  also  men- 
tioned by  Plato,  and  to  relate  such  particulfirs 
as  are  conformable  to   his  dogmas  respecting 
each.      And,  in  the  first  place,  w^e  shall  discuss 
those  wonderful  conceptions  respecting  divine 
poetry  which  may  be  collected  by  him  who  does 
not  negligently  peruse  his   writings.     For  these 
things   being  previously  determined,   it  will  I 
think  be  easy   to  assign  apt  reasons  respecting 
the  subsequent  species.     In  the  Phaedrus  then, 
he  denominates  this  divine  poetry,  '  a  posses- 
sion from  the  Mus;es,  and  a  mania,  and  says, 
that  it  is  supernally  imparted  to  a  tender  and 
solitary  soul  ;    but  that  its  employment  is  to 
excite  and  inspire  with  Bacchic  fury,  according 
to  odes,  and  the  rest  of  poetry,  and  its  end  to 
instruct    posterity    in    celebrating    the   infinite 
transactions    of    the    ancients.'      From    these 
words,  it  is  perfectly  evident  that  he  calls  the 
original  and  first-operating  cause  of  poetry,  the 
gift  of  the  Muses.      For  as  they  fill  all  the  other 
fabrications  of  the  Father  of  the  universe,  both 


■--»  ■••.-•%«. 


XVI 


INTRODUCTION. 


the  apparent  and  unapparent  with  harmony 
unci  rhythmical  motion,  in  like  manner  in  th0 
$ouIs  which  are  possessed  by  them,  they  prp- 
duce  a  vestige  of  divine  symmetry  which  illumi- 
nates divinely-inspired  poetry.  But  since  the 
whole  energy  of  the  illuminating  power  is  in  di- 
vine advents,  and  that  which  is  illuminated 
gives  itself  up  to  the  motions  proceeding  from 
thence,  and  abandoning  its  own  habits,  spreads 
itself  under  the  energies  of  that  which  is  divine 
and  uniform,  on  this  account  I  think  he  denomi- 
nates such  an  illumination  a  possession  and 
mania.  He  calls  \t2i possession,  because  the  whole 
ilkiminated  soul  gives  itself  up  to  the  present 
effect  of  illuminating  deity ;  and  a  manias  be- 
cause such  a  soul  abandons  its  own  proper 
energies  for  the  peculiarities  of  the  illuminating 
powers. 


In  the  next  place,  he  describes  the  habit  of 
the  soul  possessed  by  the  Muses,  and  says 
it  ought  to  be  tender  and  solitary.  For  a  soul 
hard  and   resisting,  and  inobedient  to  divine 


i:!'^TRODUCTIOI^. 


XVll 


illumination,  is  disposed  contrary  to  the  energy 
of  divinely-inspired  possession ;  since  it  thus 
rather  subsists  from  itself  than  from  that  which 
illuminates,  and  is  incapable  of  being  properly 
impressed  with  its  gifts.  But  a  soul  which  is 
possessed  by  other  all-various  opinions,  and  is 
filled  with  reasonings  foreign  from  a  divine 
nature,  obscures  divine  inspiration,  mingling 
with  the  motions  thence  derived  its  own  lives 
and  energies.  It  is  requisite,  therefore,  that  the 
soul  which  is  to  be  possessed  by  the  Muses, 
should  be  tender  and  solitary,  that  it  may  be 
properly  passive  to,  and  perfectly  sympa- 
thize with  divinity,  and  that  it  may  be 
impassive,  unreceptive,  and  unmingled  with  re- 
spect to  other  things. 

^*  In  the  third  place,  therefore,  he  adds  the 
common  employment  of  such  an  aptitude,  and 
of  possession  and  rnania  from  the  Muses.  For 
to  excite  and  inspire  with  Bacchic  fury,  is  Uie 
province  both  of  that  which  illuminates  and  that 
which  is  illuminated,  and  which  gives  comple- 
tion to  the   same  thing;    the  former  moving 


Arist. 


VOL.   I. 


e.  •■amfatLtjatfcai.-taifc.rfaaii 


IV 


XVJll 


INTRODUCTION. 


INTRODUCTION. 


XIX 


supernally,  and  the  latter  spreading  itself  under 
the  moving  cause.  Excitation  is  indeed  a 
resurrection  and  unperverted  energy  of  the 
soul,  and  a  conversion  to  divinity  from  a  lapse 
into  generation.  But  Bacchic  fury  is  a  divinely- 
inspired  motion,  and  an  unwearied  dance,  as 
it  were,  towards  a  divine  nature,  giving  per- 
fection to  the  possessed.  But  again,  both  these 
are  requisite,  that  the  possessed  may  not  incline 
to  that  which  is  worse,  but  may  be  easily  moved 
to  a  more  excellent  nature. 

"  In  the  fourth  place  he  adds,  that  the  end  of 
this  divine  poetry  is  to  instruct  posterity  ia 
celebrating  the  infinite  deeds  of  the  ancients. 
Hence,  he  evidently  testifies  that  human  affairs 
become  more  perfect  and  splendid  when  they 
are  delivered  from  a  divine  mouth,  and  that 
true  erudition  is  produced  in  the  auditors  of 
such  poetry.  Not  that  it  is  adapted  to  juvenile 
tuition,  but  pertains  to  those  that  are  already 
perfect  in  politic  discipline,  and  require  a  more 
mystic  tradition  respecting  divine  concerns. 
Such  poetry,   therefore,   instructs   the  hearers 


more  than  any  other,  when  it  is  divine,  and 
when  its  divine  nature  becomes  manifest  to  its 
auditors.  Hence,  Plato  very  properly  prefers 
this  poetry  which  subsists  from  the  Muses  in 
tender  and  solitary  souls,  to  every  other  human 
art.  *  For  the  poet,"  says  he,  *  who  ap- 
proaches  to  the  poetic  gates  without  such  a 
mania,  will  be  imperfect ;  and  liis  poetry,  so  far 
as  it  is  dictated  by  prudence,  will  vanish  before 
that  which  is  the  progeny  of  fury/  In  this 
manner,  therefore,  does  Socrates  in  the  Phae- 
drus  instruct  us  in  the  peculiarities  of  divine 
prophecy,  and  the  telestic  art,  and  refer  its  first 
unfolding  into  light,  to  the  gods. 

"  With  these  things,  also,  what  he  says  in  the 
lo  accords,  when  he  is  discoursing  with  the 
rhapsodist  about  this  species  of  poetry  :  for 
here  he  most  clearly  evinces  that  the  poetry  of 
Homer  is  divine,  and,  to  others  that  are  conver- 
sant with  it,  is  the  cause  of  enthusiastic  energy. 
For  when  the  rhapsodist  says,  that  he  can  speak- 
copiously  on  the  poems  of  Homer,  but  by  no 


XX 


INTRODUCTION. 


INTRODUCTION. 


XM 


^leans  on  the  writings  of  other  poets,  Socrates 
assionino;  the  reason  of  this  says,  *It  is  not 
from  art  that  you  speak  well  concerning  Homer, 
but  because  you  are  moved  by  a  divine  power/ 
And  that  this  is  true  is  indeed  perfectly  evident. 
For  those  who  do  any  thing  by  art,  are  able  to 
produce  thebame  effect  in  all  similars;  but  those 
that  operate  by  a  certain  divine  power  about 
any  thino-  which  subsists  with  symmetry,  can 
no  longer  thus  operate  with  respect  to  other 
things,  which  necessarily  have  the  same  power. 
Whence,  also,  a  power  of  this  kind  is  derived 
to  the  rhapsodist,  which  particularly  connects 
him  with  Homer,  but  no  longer  with  other  poets-. 
Socrates  afterwards  teaches  us,  using  the  stone 
which  is  vulgarly  called  Herculaean,  as  a  most 
perspicuous  example  of  the  most  perfect  pos- 
session from  the  Muses :—' This  stone  then," 
says  he,  '  not  only  draws  to  itself  iron  rings, 
but  inserts  in  them  a  power  attractive  of  things 
similar,  so  as  to  enable  them  to  draw  other  rings, 
and  form  a  chain  of  rings  or  pieces  of  iron,  de- 
pending one  from  another.' 


*'  Let  us  in  the  next  place  hear  what  Socrates 
adds  similar  to  these  things,  respecting  divine 
poetry  : — '  Thus  then,'  says  he,  *  the  Muse 
makes  men  divine;  and  from  these  men  thus 
inspired,  others  catching  the  sacred  power,  forra^ 
a  chain  of  divine  enthusiasts/  Here,  in  the 
first  place,  he  speaks  of  the  divine  cause  in  the 
singular  number,  calling  it  the  Muse,  and  not, 
as  in  the  Phoedrus,  a  possession  from  the  Muses, 
and  a  mania  pertaining  to  their  whole  multitude, 
that  he  may  refer  all  the  number  of  those  that 
are  moved  enthusiastically,  to  one  monad  as  it 
were,  the  primary  principle  of  poetry.  For 
poetry  subsists  uniformly  and  occultly  in  the 
first  mover,  but  secondarily,  and  in  a  revolved 
manner,  in  poets  moved  by  that  monad,  and 
lastly,  in  a  ministrant  degree  in  the  rhapsodists, 
who  are  led  back  to  this  cause  through  poets 
as  the  media.  In  the  next  place,  by  extending 
divine  inspiration  supernally,  as  far  as  to  the 
last  mixtures,  he  evidently  at  the  same  time 
celebrates  the  fecundity  of  the  first  moving 
principle,  and  most  clearly  evinces  the  partici^- 


xxu 


INTRODUCTION* 


INTRODUCTION. 


XX I H 


pation  of  the  first  participants.  For  that  poets 
should  be  able  to  excite  others  by  their  poems 
to  a  divinely-inspired  energy,  indicates  that 
there  is  a  most  conspicuous  presence  in  them 
of  a  divine  nature.  Consequent  to  these  things, 
therefore,  he  also  adds  what  follows  respecting 
the  possession  of  poets.  '  The  best  epic  poets,' 
says  he,  *  and  all  such  as  excel  in  composing 
any  kind  of  verses  to  be  recited,  frame  not  these 
their  admirable  poems  from  the  rules  of  art; 
but  possessed  by  the  Muse,  they  write  from 
divine  inspiration.  Nor  is  it  otherwise  with  the 
best  Lyric  poets,  and  all  other  fine  writers  of 
verses  to  be  sung.'  xVnd  again  afterwards  he 
says  :  '  For  a  poet  is  a  thing  light,  and  volatile, 
and  sacred  ;  nor  is  he  able  to  write  poetry  till 
he  becomes  divine,  and  has  no  longer  the  com- 
mand of  his  intellect/  And  lastly,  he  adds  : 
'  Hence  it  is  that  the  poets,  indeed,  say  many 
fine  things  whatever  their  subject  be,  just  as  you 
do  concerning  Homer;  but  not  doing  it  through 
any  rules  of  art,  each  of  them  is  able  to  suc- 
ceed, from  a  divine  destiny,  in  that  species  of 


poetry  only  to  which  he  is  impelled  by  the 
Muse.' 


"  In  all  these  citations,  therefore,  Plato  evi- 
dently establishes  divine  poetry  in  a  divine 
cause,  which  he  calls  a  Muse;  in  this  emulating 
Homer,  who  at  one  time  looks  to  the  multitude, 
and  at  another  to  the  union  of  the  series  of 
the  Muses;  as  when  he  says,  *0  Muses  sing,' 
and  *  Sing  me  the  man,  O  Muse.'  In  the  mid- 
dle of  this  principle  of  enthusiastic  motions, 
and  of  the  last  echoes'  of  inspiration  beheld 
in  rhapsodists  according  to  sympathy,  Plato 
establishes  poetic  mania,  moving  and  being 
moved,  supernally  filled,  and  transferring  to 
others  the  illumination  which  originates  from 
thence,  and  which  imparts  one  conjunction  to 
the  last  participants  with  the  participated 
monad. 

"  With  these  things,  also,  we  may  co-harmonize 

'  For  eiToxfijJ'CiTMv  in  the  original,  read  cc7rri)(y}fiaTMv, 


Ir. 


XXIV 


INTRODUCTION^. 


what  is  said  by  the  Athenian  guest  in  the  third 
book  of  the  Laws,  concerning  poetry,  and  what 
Timaeus  says  respecting  poets.     For  the  former 
says,  *  that  the  poetic  genus  is  divinely-inspir- 
ed ;  that  it  composes  sacred  hymns,  and,  with 
certain  Graces  and  Muses,  relates  many  things 
that  have  been  truly  transacted ;'  and  the  latter 
exhorts  us  '  to  follow  poets  inspired  by  Phoebus^ 
as  being  the  sons  of  gods,  and  knowing  the  con- 
cerns of  their  progenitors,  though  their  assertions 
are  not  probable,  and  are  unaccompanied  with 
demonstrations/     From  all  which  it  is  easy  to 
understand  what  the  opinion  of  Plato  was  con- 
cerning divine  poetry,  and  the  poets  character'' 
rized  according  to  it ;  and  that  these  are  espe-*- 
cially  messengers  of  divine  names,  and  are  in 
an  eminent  manner  acquainted  with  the  affairs 
of  their  fathers.      When,  therefore,   he  takes 
notice  of  mythical  fictions,   and   corrects   the 
more  serious  part  of  the  writings  of  poets,  such 
as  those  respecting  bonds,  castrations,   loves, 
venereal    connexions,  tears   and   laughter,    we 
must  say  that  he  also  especially  testifies  that 


INTRODUCTION. 


XXV 


these  things  are  properly  introduced,  according 
to  the  theory  which  is  concealed  in  these  sym- 
l>ols,  as  under  veils.  For  he  who  thinks  that 
poets  are  particularly  worthy  of  belief  in  affairs 
respecting  the  gods,  though  they  speak  without 
demonstration  from  divine  inspiration,  must 
certainly  admire  divine  fables;'  through  whicli 
they  deliver  the  truth  concerning  divine  natures. 
And  he  who  calls  the  poetic  genus  divine,  can- 
not also  ascribe  to  it  an  impious  and  gigantic 
opinion  respecting  divine  concerns.  He  like- 
wise who  evinces  that  the  assertions  of  poets 
are  attended  with  certain  Graces  and  Muses, 
must  entirely  consider  an  inelegant,  unharmo- 
nious  and  ungraceful  phantasy,  as  very  remote 
from  the  theory  of  divine  poets.  When,  there- 
fore, in  his  Republic  he  establishes  by  law  that 
poetry,  and  the  indication  through  fables,  are 
not  adapted  to  the  ears  of  youth,  he  is  very  far 
from  despising  poetry  itself,  but  removes  the 
juvenile  habit,  as  unexercised  in  the  hearing  of 

'  Instead  of  reading  roij  sv  toij  pjSoi^,  after  5ao^a(rrra.',  1  read 


J 


XXVI 


INTRODUCTION. 


INTEODUCTION 


XXVll 


such  things  from  fiction  of  this  kind.     For,  as 
he  sajs  in  the  second  Alcibiades,  '  the  whole 
of  poetry  is  naturally  enigmatical,  and  is  not 
obvious   to   the  understanding  of  every  one/ 
And  hence  in  the  Republic,  he  clearly   says, 
'  that  a  youth  is  not  able  to  distinguish  what  is 
allegory,  and  what  is  not.'   We  must  say,  there- 
fore,   that  he  entirely  admits  inspired  poetry, 
which  he  calls  divine,  and  thinks  it  proper  that 
those  by  whom  it  is  possessed  should  be  vene- 
rated in  silence.     And  thus  much  concprning 
the  first  kind  of  poetry,   which  subsists  from  a 
divine  origin  in  tender  and  solitary  souls. 


*4rr 


"  In  the  next  place,  let  us  contemplate  that 
species  of  poetry,  which  has  a  scientific  know- 
ledge  of  things,  and  which  energizes  according 
to  intellect  and  prudence;  which  unfolds  to 
men  many  names  concerning  an  incorporeal 
nature,  and  leads  forth  into  light  many  probable 
dogmas  respecting  a  corporeal  subsistence; 
investigates  the  most  beautiful  symmetry  in 
manners,  and  the  disposition  contrary  to  this ; 


and  adorns  all  these  with  proper  measures  and 
rhythms.  The  Athenian  guest  says,  that  the 
poetry  of  Theognis  is  of  this  kind,  which  he 
praises  beyond  that  of  Tyrtaeus,  because  Theog- 
•  nis  is  a  teacher  of  the  whole  of  virtue,  and 
which  extends  to  the  whole  political  life.  For 
the  one  admits  a  fidelity  which  receives  its 
completion  from  all  the  virtues,  expels  from 
pohties  that  most  true  vice,  sedition,  and  leads 
into  consent  the  lives  of  those  that  are  persuaded. 
But  the  other  praises  the  habit  of  fortitude  by 
itself  alone,  and  exhorts  to  this  those  that  neg- 
lect the  other  virtues.  It  will,  however,  be 
better  to  hear  the  words  themselves  of  Plato:' 
«  We  have  too  the  poet  Theognis  a  witness 
in  our  favour,  who  was  a  citizen  of  the  Mega- 
rensians  in  Sicily,  for  he  says. 

Who  faithful  in  insane  sedition  keeps. 
With  silver  and  with  ruddy  gold  may  vie. 

Wesav,  therefore,  that  such  a  one  will  conduct 
himself  in  the  most  diflScult  war,  in  a  manner 

'  See  the  1st  book  of  the  Laws. 


jiadBBiif-fMiifiiiisrfiiitt 


XXVIU 


INTRODUCTION. 


INTRODUCTION. 


XXIX 


nearly  as  much  superior  to  the  other,  as  justice, 
temperance,  and  prudence,  when  conjoined 
with  fortitude,  are  superior  to  fortitude  alone. 
For  no  one  can  be  found  faithful  and  sound  in 
seditions  without  the  whole  of  virtue/  Here,  ' 
therefore,  he  admits  Theognis,  as  partaking  of 
political  science,  and  all  the  virtues. 

''  But  in  the  second  Alcibiadcs,  defining  the 
most  right  and  safe  mode  of  prayer,  he  refers 
it  to  a  certain  wise  poet:— 'To  me,   says   he, 
Alcibiades,  it  seems  probable  that  some  wise 
man  or  other,  happening  to  be  connected  with 
certain  persons  void  of  understanding,  and  ob- 
serving them  to    pursue  and  pray   for  things, 
which  it  were  better  for  them  still  to  be  without, 
but  which  appeared  to  them  good,  composed 
for  their  use  a  common   prayer,  the  words  of 
which  are  nearly  these:  King  Jupiter,  grant  us 
what  is  good,  be  it  or  not  the  subject  of  our 
prayers,  and  avert  from  us  what  is  evil  though 
we  should  pray  for  it/     For  the  scientific  man 
alone  knows  how  to  distinguish  the  separation 


of  good  and  evil,  and  a  converse  with  a  divine 
nature  adapted  to  the  middle  habits  of  men. 
And  on  this  account  Socrates  calls  the  poet  that 
composed  this  prayer  a  wise  man,  as  forming 
a  judgment  of  the  natures  of  those  that  prayed, 
neither  through   divine  inspiration,  nor   right 
opinion,  but  through  science  alone,  as  regard- 
ing their  habits  and  preserving  that   which  be- 
comes the  beneficent  powers  of  the  gods.     For 
to  convert  all  of  them  through  prayer  to  the  one 
royal   providence  of  Jupiter;  to   suspend  the 
subsistence    of  good    from   the   power  of  divi- 
nity ;  to  obliterate  the  generation  of  true  evils 
tbi^Rugh  the  benevolence  of  a   more  excellent 
nature,  and  in  short  to  assert  ti.at  these  thino-s 
are  unknown  to  those  that  pray,  but  are  sepa- 
rated by  divinity  according  to  proper  bounda- 
ries, is  the  work  of  wisdom  and  science,  and 
not  of  any  thing  casual.     Very  properly,  there- 
fore, do  we  say  that  such  poetry  is  wise  and 
scientific.     For  the  poetry  which  is  able  to  as- 
sign right  opinions  to  middle  habits,  must  itself 
subsist  according  to  perfect  science. 


XXX 


iNTRODtrCTION. 


INTRODUCTION. 


XXXI 


"  In  the  third  place,  therefore,  let  us  speak 
concerning  imitative  poetry,  which,  we  have 
already  said,  at  one  time  assimilates  things,  and 
at  another  expresses  them  according  to  appear- 
ance. The  Athenian  guest  clearly  delivers  to 
us  the  assimilative  part  of  this  poetry  ;  but  So- 
crates in  the  Republic  describes  its  phantastic 
part ;  and  how  these  differ  from  each  other,  I 
mean  the  assimilative  and  phantastic  species 
of  imitation,  the  Eleatean  guest  sufficiently  in- 
forms us : — *  For  I  appear,  says  he,  to  perceive 
two  species  of  imitation,  one,  the  conjectural 
or  assimilative  art,  which  then  especially  takes 
place  when  some  one  gives  birth  to  imitation 
by  imparting  to  every  particular  such  things  as 
are  fit  in  length,  breadth,  and  depth,  according 
to  the  symmetries  of  its  exemplar,  and  besides 
these  things,  colours  also.  Thece,  Do  not  all 
imitators  endeavour  to  effect  this?  Guest.  Not 
those  who  perform  or  paint  any  great  works. 
For  if  they  were  to  impart  to  them  the  true 
symmetry  of  things  beautiful,  you  know  that 
the   parts   above   would   appear   smaller,   and 


those  below  larger  than  is  fit;  through  the  one 
bing  seen  by  us  afar  off,  and  the  other  near. 
Thece.  Entirely  so.     Artists,  therefore,  bidding 
farewell  to  truth,  do  not  produce  in   images 
truly  beautiful  symmetries,  but  those  which  ap- 
pear  to   be   so.'     Very    properly    therefore,   I 
think,  does  the  Eleatean  guest,  at  the  end  of 
the  dialogue,  wishing  to  bind  the  sophist  by  the 
definitive  method,  establish  one  part  of  the  art 
effective  of  images  to  be  assimilative,  and  the 
other  phantastic ;  the  one  fabricating  the  image 
such  as  is  the  exemplar,  the  other  preparing 
that  which  it  produces  to  appear  like  that  which 
it  imitates.     However,  of  assimilative  poetry, 
the  Athenian  guest  speaks  separately  in  the  se- 
cond book  of  the   Laws,  where  he  treats   of 
music  which  does  not  make  pleasure  its  end, 
but  a  true  and  similar  imitation  of  its  exem- 
plar ;  to  which  place  we  refer  the  reader. 

"  But  Socrates,  speaking  in  this  book  of  phan- 
tastic poetry,  and  having  shown  that  a  poet  of 


laii^^^i^uigagiiM^^^fa^^ft&^u^^g^idfMi^li^ 


riSiaaSaiMrifiiifwifiiiiiinii 


xxxu 


INTIIODUCTIOIS'. 


this  kind  is  the  third  from  truth  and  imitative, 
compares  such  poetry  to  a  picture,  which  re- 
presents not  the  works  of  nature  but  of  artifi- 
cers, and  these  not  such  as  they  are,  but  such 
as  they  appear.  Hence,  he  clearly  evinces 
that  the  phantastic  species  of  poetry  regards 
pleasure  alone,  and  the  delight  of  those  that 
hear  it.  For  of  imitative  poetry,  the  phan- 
tastic falls  short  of  the  assimilative?,  so  far  as 
the  latter  regards  rectitude  of  imitation,  but  the 
former  the  pleasure  produced  in  the  multitude 
from  the  energies  of  the  phantasy.  Such  then 
are  the  genera  of  poetry,  which  are  thought 
worthy  of  distinction  by  Plato;  one,  as  better 
tlmn  science,  another  as  scientific,  a  third  as 
conversant  with,  and  a  fourth  as  falling  off  from 
light  opinion. 


"  Tiiese  things  then  being  determined,  let  us 
return  to  the  poetry  of  Homer,  and  coHtem- 
plate  resplendent  in  it  every  poetic  habit,  and 
[particularly  those  which  regard  rectitude  and 


INTRODUCTION.. 


XXXUI 


beauty.  For  when  he  energizes  enthusiasti- 
cally, is  possessed  by  the  Muses,  and  narrates 
mystic  conceptions  about  the  gods  themselves  ; 
th^n  he  energizes  according  to  the  first  and  di- 
vinely-inspired species  of  poetry.  But  when 
he  relates  the  life  of  the  soul,  the  diversities 
in  its  nature,  and  such  political  concerns  as 
pertain  to  it,  then  he  especially  speaks  scienti- 
fically. Again,  when  he  presents  us  with  forms 
of  imitation  adapted  to  things  and  persons 
themselves,  then  he  employs  assimilative  imita- 
tion. But  when  he  directs  his  attention  to 
that  which  appears  to  the  multitude,  and  not 
to  the  truth  of  things,  and  thus  seduces  the 
souls  of  his  hearers,  then  he  is  a  poet  according 
to  the  phantastic  species.  To  illustrate  what  I 
mean,  that  I  may  begin  from  the  last  imitation 
of  the  poet,  he  sometimes  describes  the  rising 
and  setting  of  the  sun,  not  as  each  of  these  is, 
nor  as  each  is  effected,  nor  imitating  this  in 
his  verses,  but  as  it  appears  to  us  through  dis- 
tance.  This,  then,  and  every  thing  of  this  kind, 
may  be  called  the  phantastic  part  of  his  poetry. 
ArisL  VOL.  I.  d 


XXXIV 


INTRODUCTION. 


INTRODUCTION". 


XXXV 


But  when  he  imitates  heroes  warring,  or  con- 
sulting, or  speaking  according  to  the  forms  of 
life,  some  as  prudent,  others  as  brave,  and 
others  as  ambitious,  then  I  should  say  that  this 
is  the  work  of  assimilative  poetry.  Again, 
when  in  consequence  of  knowing  either  the  di- 
versity of  subsistence  i-n  the  parts  of  the  soul, 
he  unfolds  and  teaches  it,  or  the  difference  be- 
tween the  image,  and  the  soul  by  which  it  is 
used,  or  the  order  of  the  elements  in  the  uni- 
verse, viz.  of  earth,  water,  aether,  heaven,  or 
an}'  thing  else  of  this  kind,  then  I  should  con- 
fidently assert  that  this  originated  from  the 
scientific  power  of  poetry.  And  after  all  these, 
when  he  teaches  us  concerning  the  demiurgic 
monad,  and  the  triple  distribution  of  wholes, 
or  concerning  the  bonds  of  Vulcan,  or  the  con- 
nexion of  the  paternal  intellection  of  Jupiter 
with  the  prolific  divinity  of  Juno,  then  I  should 
say  that  he  is  clearly  enthusiastic,  and  that  such- 
like  fables  are  devised  by  him,  in  consecjuenc^ 
of  his  being  possessed  by  the  Mtises.  But 
Homer  himself  also  manifests,  in  the  bard  De- 


modocus,  an  energy  originating  from  the  ^ods, 
when  Ulysses  says  of  his  song,  that  he  began 
it  impelled  by  a  god,  that  he  was  divinely, 
inspired,  and  that  the  Muse  loved  him,  or  the 
god  that  is  the  leader  of  the  Muses  : 

The  Muse,  Jove's  daughter,  or  Apollo  taught 
Thee  aptly  thus  the  fate  of  Greece  to  sing. 
And  all  the  Grecians*  hardy  deeds  and  toils. « 

And  tfiat  Homer  by  Demodocus  intended  after 
a  manner  to  represent  himself, '  and  introduced 
him  as  a  pattern  of  his  own  calamities,  is  an 
opinion  sufficiently  celebrated.  And  the  verses 

With  clouds  of  darkness  quench'd  his  visual  ray. 
But  gave  him  skill  to  raise  the  lofty  lay, 

appear  directly  to  refer  to  the  fabled  blindness 

«  Odyss.  lib.  8.  v.  488. 

*  Homer  never  expressly  mentions  himself ;  but,  as  Dio  Chry- 
sostom  justly  observes,  "  he  speaks  in  reality  like  the  prophets 
of  the  gods  from  an  unapparent  place,  and  as  it  were  from  the 
adytum,  or  secret  recess  of  a  temple."  ciXXu  Tea  ovti,  wcTTrf/?  oi 


a-Mri&caaf''"--^''^"-'-'^''*'*''^**"'*"  -■M>-^^^A>«-!u^^-«h^-!..>.j'.ife.v>-<LV3^^  ii 


XXXVl 


mTliODUCTIOK. 


INTRODUCTIOX, 


xxxvn 


of  Homer.  He,  therefore,  clearly  contends 
that  Demodocus  says  what  he  does  say  from 
divine  inspiration.  ^  But  it  is  well  that  we  have 
mentioned  Demodocus,  and  his  divinely-in* 
spired  song.  For  it  appears  to  me  that  the  mu- 
sicians who  are  thought  worthy  of  being 
mentioned  by  Homer,  unfold  the  above-men- 
tioned genera  of  poetry.  For  Demodocus,  as 
we  have  said,  was  divinely  inspired,  both  in 
narrating  divine  and  human  concerns,  and  is 
said  to  have  suspended  his  music  from  divinity. 
But  Phemius,  the  Ithacensian  bard,  is  princi- 
pally characterized  according  to  a  mere  know- 
ledo-e  of  divine  and  human  affairs.  For  Pene- 
lope  says  to  him  : 

Alluring  arts  thou  know'st,  and  what  of  old 
Of  2ods  and  heroes  sacred  bards  have  told/ 

The  third  is  the  lyrist  of  Clytemnestra,  who 
was  as  it  seems  an  imitative  poet,  employed 
ri^hi  opinion,  and   extended  the  melodies  of 

"  Odyss.  hb.  1. 


temperance  to  that  female.  Hence  as  long 
as  he  remained  with  her,  she  perpetrated 
no  unholy  deed,  in  consequence  of  her  ir- 
rational life  being  charmed  to  temperance 
by  disciplinative  song.  The  fourth  musi- 
cian, may  be  placed  as  analogous  to  the 
phantastic  species  of  poetry  ;  and  this  is  that 
'J'hamyris,  with  whose  sonor  the  Muses  being: 
indignant,  are  said  to  have  caused  it  to  cease. 
For  he  was  conversant  with  a  music  much  more 
diversified  and  sensible,  and  calculated  to  please 
the  vulgar.  Hence  he  is  said  to  have  contended 
with  the  Muses,  as  preferring  a  more  various 
itiusio  to  that  which  is  more  simple  and  more 
adapted  to  those  divinities,  and  as  falling  from 
the  benevolence  of  the  goddesses.  For  the  ansrer 
of  the  Muses  does  not  refer  any  passion  to  them ; 
but  indicates  the  inaptitude  of  Thamyris  to  their 
participation.  This  then  is  the  song  Avhich  is 
most  remote  from  truth,  which  calls  forth  the 
passions  of  the  soul,  and  is  phantastic,  and  nei- 
ther possesses,  with  respect  to  imitation,  right 
opinion,  nor  science.     We  may,  therefore,  be . 


XXXVlll 


INTRODUCTION. 


hold  all  the  kinds  of  poetry  in  Homer,  but  par- 
ticularly the  enthusiastic,  according  to  which 
vve  have  said  he  is  principally  characterized. 
Nor  are  we  singular  in  this  opinion,  but  as  we 
have  before  observed,  Plato  himself  in  many 
places  calls  him  a  divine  poet,  the  most  divine 
of  poets,  and  in  the  highest  degree  worthy  of 
imitation.  But  the  imitative  and  at  the  sam,c 
time  phantastic  poetry,  has  a  most  obscure 
subsistence  in  Homer;  since  he  never  uses  it, 
but  for  the  purpose  of  procuring  credibility 
from  the  vulgar,  and  when  it  is  perfectly  un- 
avoidable. As,  therefore,  if  a  man  entering 
into  a  well-4'egulated  city,  and  beholding  intoxi- 
cation there  employed  for  a  certain  useful  pur- 
pose, should  neither  imitate  the  prudence  in 
the  city,  nor  its  whole  order,  but  intoxication 
itself  alone,  as  in  this  case  the  city  is  not  to  be 
blamed  as  the  cause  of.  his  conduct,  but  the 
peculiar  imbecility  of  his  judgment;  in  like 
manner  I  think  tragic  poets  being  emulous  of 
the  last  species  of  Homeric  poetry,  should  refer 
the  principle  of  their  error  not  to  Homer,  but  to 


t -M-  r^  -A  ■j.'-^^-hH  .'^  3.*b.ti.*tw-.iJti.tJ\.^^:T.  j^j\.-'  •  a/-- <l '-■'■  1  .'^-jfeAHSteafiiAtfiiawraCT 


INTRODUCTION. 


XXXIX 


their  own  impotency.  Homer,  therefore,  may 
be  called  the  leader  of  tragedy,  so  far  as  tragic 
poets  emulate  him  in  other  respects,  and  distri- 
bute the  different  parts  of  his  poetry  ;  imitating 
phantasticallij  what  he  asserts  aSHimilatively,  and 
adapting  to  the  ears  of  the  vulgar  what  he  com- 
poses scientifically.  Homer,  however,  is  not 
only  the  teacher  of  tragedy  (for  he  is  this  ac- 
cording to  the  last  species  of  his  poetry,)  but 
likewise  of  the  whole  of  that  which  is  imitative 
in  Plato,  and  of  the  whole  theory  of  that  philo- 
sopher." 


Proclus  concludes  his  apology  for  Homer 
Avith  observing  as  follows;  "  The  reason,''  says 
he,  ''  as  it  appears  to  me,  that  impelled  Plato 
to  write  with  such  severity  against  Homer  and 
the  imitative  species  of  poetry,  was  the  corrup- 
tion of  the  times  in  which  he  hved  ;  for  philo- 
sophy was  then  despised,  being  accused  by 
some  as  useless,  and  by  others  entirely  con- 
demned. On  the  contrary,  poetry  was  then 
held  in  immoderate  admiration;  its  imitative 


xl 


INTRODUeTION. 


power  was  the  subject  of  emulation;  it  was  con- 
sidered as  adequate  alone  to  disciplinative  pur- 
poses ;  and  poets,  |}ecause  they  imitated  every 
thing,  persuaded  themselves  that  they  knew  all 
things,  as  is  evident  from  what  Socrates  says 
in  this  dialogue  [the  Republic].  Hence  Plato, 
indignant  at  the  prevalence  of  such  an  opinion, 
shows  that  the  poetic  and  imitative  genus  wan- 
ders far  from  the  truth,  which  philosophy,  the 
saviour  of  souls,  imparts.  For  from  the  same 
benevolent  wish  through  which  he  accuses  the 
sophists,  and  popular  orators,  as  unable  to 
contribute  any  thing  to  virtue,  he  also  blames 
the  poets,  and  particularly  the  composers  of 
tragedy,  and  such  imitators  as  devise  that  which 
may  charm  their  hearers,  and  not  that  which 
may  promote  virtue,  and  who  inchant  but  do 
not  instruct  the  multitude.  But  he  considers 
Homer  as  deserving  a  similar  reprehension  be- 
cause he  is  the  leader  of  this  species  of  poetrj^; 
and  affords  to  tragedians  the  seeds  of  imitation. 
For  thus  it  was  requisite  to  recal  the  men  of 
his  age  from  astonishment  respecting  poetry, 


rNTRODUCTION. 


xli 


through  an  immoderate  attachment  to  which 
they  neglected  true  discipline.  With  a  view, 
therefore,  to  the  instruction  of  the  multitude, 
to  correct  an  absurd  phantasy,  and  exhort  to  a 
philosophic  life,  he  reprobates  the  tragedians, 
who  were  then  called  public  preceptors,  as  di- 
recting their  attention  to  nothing  sane,  and  at 
the  same  time  remits  his  reverence  for  Homer, 
and,  ranking  him  in  the  same  class  with  tragic 
poets,  blames  him  as  an  imitator. 

"  Nor  is  it  wonderful  that  the  same  poet 
should  be  called  by  him,  both  divine  and  the 
third  from  the  truth.  For  so  far  as  he  is  pos- 
sessed by  the  Muses,  he  is  divine,  but  so  far 
as  he  is  an  imitator,  he  is  the  third  from  the 
truth.'' 


HI.  With  respect  to  the  third  of  these  trea- 
tises, the  Nicomachean  Ethics,  it  is  necessary 
to  observe,  that  the  subject  of  ethics,  or  moral 
philosophy,  is  moral  entity,  (viz.  things  which 
have  a  relation  to  moral  actions)  and  moral  ac- 


xlii 


INTllODUCIlOJSr. 


tions  themselves,  and  that  it  teaches  the  mode 
of  living  worthily.  (But  moral  actions  are  those 
through  which  a  man  becomes  good  or  bad, 
that  is,  through  which  he  becomes  ada])ted  or 
unadapted  to  obtain  beatitude,  whiclj  is  the 
ultimate  end  of  man.  And  to  live  worthily,  is 
to  live  in  a  manner  adapted  to  the  attainment 
of  the  ultimate  end,  or  beatitude,  ^ 

In  the  first  place,  therefore,  moral  philosophy 
considers  man  with  reference  to  himself,  not 
physically  but  ethically,  that  is,  so  far  as  he 
is  capable  of  being  worthy  or  depraved,  and 
can  be  well  or  ill  disposed  with  relation  to  bea- 
titude. In  the  second  place,  it  consider^,  the 
energies  of  man,  not  only  his  internal,  but  also 
his  external  energies,  so  far  as  they  are  capable 
of  being  good  or  bad.  And  in  the  third  place 
it  considers  the  objects  of  these  energies,  so  fav 
as  they  can  be  worthy  or  depraved. 


Because,  likewise,  moral  philosophy  demon^ 
strates  many  conclusions  concerning  moral  en- 


INTRODUCTION. 


xliii 


tity,  on  this  account  it  is  a  demonstrative  sci- 
ence. And  because  again,  it  not  only  considers 
practical  truths  about  moral  entity,  that  is,  those 
truths  which  contribute  to  action,  but  likewise 
many  speculative  truths,  the  knowledge  of 
which  does  not  contribute  to  action  but  to  sci- 
ence, hence  it  is  partly  practical  and  partly  spe- 
culative, though  it  is  more  the  former  than  the 
latter,  because  moral  entity  is  more  principally 
considered  on  account  of  action,  than  on  ac- 
count of  science. 


Though  moral  philosophy,  however,  is  a  prac- 
tical science,  yet  it  is  not  properl}^  either  pru- 
dence or  art.  It  is  not  art,  because  art  is  a 
habit  effective  in  conjunction  with  true  reason^ 
at)Oiit  those  things  which  contribute  to  particular 
ends.  Thus,  statuary  is  a  habit  producing  a 
statue  in  conjunction  with  true  reason^  that  is, 
with  infallible  pj^ecepts.  And  poetry  is  a  habit 
producing  a  poem  with  true  reason ;  while  at 
the  same  time  neither  a  poem  nor  a  statue  is 
tlie  ultimate  end  of  man,  but  each  is  only  a 


xliv 


INTRODUCTION. 


particular  end.  But  moral  philosophy  is  a 
habit  practical  in  conjunction  with  true  redsoni 
about  those  things  which  contribute  to  the  ulti-^ 
mate  end  of  man.  It  likewise  delivers  the  true 
method,  and  infallible  precepts  of  regulating 
tie  whole  of  our  life,  and  all  our  actions,  so  as 
that  we  may  obtain  beatitude.  Again,  moral 
philosophy  differs  from  prudence,  because  pru- 
dence is  a  habit  determining  what  this  man  should 
do^  and  what  is  now  to  be  done^  in  order  to  the 
attainment  of  the  ultimate  end ;  but  moral  phi- 
losophy alone  determines  universally,  what  is 
to  be  done  in  order  to  obtain  this  end,  and  not 
what  this  man  should  do,  and  what  should  now 

be  done. 

.  ♦. 

Hence,  we  infer  that  moral  philosophy  is  the 
science  of  living  worthily,  aV*  that  it  is  a  science 
defining  the  idtimate  end  of  man,  and  teaching 
universally  the  mode  by  which  a  man  ought  to 
regulate  the  whole  of  his  life,  and  all  his  actions^ 
in  order  to  the  attainment  of  such  an  end. 


INTRODUCTIOX* 


klv 


Of  moral  philosophy,  likewise,  there  are  three 
parts,  one  which  considers  man  with  reference 
to  himself,  another  w^hich  considers  him  as  con- 
nected with  a  family,  and  a  third  which  con- 
siders him  as  a  member  of  the  community.  For 
man  is  naturally  not  a  solitary,  but  a  social 
animal ;  because  since  one  man  is  not  sufficient 
to  himself  for  the  purposes  of  living,  and  of  liv- 
ing well,  but  requires  the  assistance  of  other 
men,  every  man  is  naturally  a  part  of  a  certain 
multitude,  and  ought  to  live  in  the  society  of 
other  men.  But  the  society  to  which  all  other 
associations  may  be  reduced  is  twofold,  the  one 
imperfect  and  insufficient,  which  is  the  society 
of  those  who  live  in  one  house  and  family  ;  the 
other  perfect,  and  sufficient  to  itself,  which  is 
the  society  of  those  who  live  in  a  city  or  king- 
dom. To  a  perfect  city,  however,  it  is  neces- 
sary that  it  should  contain  every  thing  requisite 
to  the  purposes  of  living  and  of  living  well.  And 
as  the  end  of  every  man  is  the  felicity  of  that 
man,  so  the  end  of  a  family,  is  the  felicity  of 
the  family,  and  of  a  city,  the  felicity  of  the  city. 


If 


xivi 


iNTRODLCTlO:^ 


INTIIODUCTION*. 


xlvii 


Hence,  because  moral  philosophy  is  a  'science 
disposing  a  man  to  the  ultimate  end,  it  ought 
not  only  to  dispose  every  individual  of  the  hu- 
man species  to  the  attainment  of  this  end,  but 
likewise  a  family,  and  a  city  or  kingdom.  That 
part  of  moral  philosophy,  therefore,  which  teach- 
es how  the  actions  of  every  man,  conaidered 
Avith  reference  to  himself,  are  to  be  regulated  in 
order  to  his  attainment  of  beatitude,  is  deliver- 
ed by  Aristotle  in  the  ten  books  of  the  Nico* 
machean  Ethics ;  and  also  in  the  two  books 
entitled  the  Great  Ethics  ;  and  in  the  seven 
books  of  Ethics  to  Eudemus.  That  part  which 
teaches  how  the  actions  of  a  whole  family  afe 
to  be  resculated,  in  order  to  the  attainment  of 
the  ultimate  end,  is  called  economic,  and  is  de- 
livered by  Aristotle  in  his  two  books  of  Econo- 
mics. And  that  part  which  teaches  how  the 
actions  of  a  whole  city  and  kingdom  are  to  be 
regulated  in  order  to  obtain  felicity,  is  called 
politic,  and  is  delivered  by  Aristotle  in  the  eight 
books  of  his  Politics.  Because,  likewise,  it  is 
more   divine  to  procure  the  good  of  a  whoJe 


city  or  nation,  than  of  a  man,  or  one  fafiiily ; 
hence,  the  political  part  of  moral  philosophy  is 
more  excellent  and  divine  than  the  economical 
part,  or  than  the  part  which  relates  to  man 
considered  with  reference  to  himself. 

I  shall  only  observe  farther,  that  the  Nico- 
machean  Ethics  are  so  inscribed,  because  they 
were  written  by  Aristotle  to  his  son  Nicoma- 
chus  ;  that  the  reader  will  derive  great  advan- 
tage by  occasionally  consulting  the  translation 
of  the  Paraphrase  of  an  anonymous  Greek  wri- 
ter on  these  ethics,  by  Mr.  Bridgman,  as  this 
tmnslation  is  at  once  perspicuous^  accurate,  and 
elegant;  and  that  Aristotle,  in  his  moral  trea- 
tises,  has  delivered  a  system  of  ethics  in  all  its 
parts  scientific  and  perfect. 


^»jA'Jlikv^i'\i-'tr^,-iS±:ii^'S^.'»«B^liei^:i'SS»<^i»-JU:«iBlSitVi 


THE 


^ 


VRT  OF  RHETORIC. 


BOOK  I. 


CHAPTER  I. 


S 


Rhetoric    reciprocates  with  dialectic  [or  logic];  for 
both   are    conversant   with   such    particulars,   as   being 
common  may  after  a  manner  be  known  by  all  men,  and., 
pertain  to  no  definite  science.      Hence,  all  men  in  a 
certain  respect  participate  of  both  these ;  for  all  men  to 
a  certain  extent  endeavour  to  examine  and  sustain  an 
argument,  to  defend  and  accuse.     With  respect  to  the 
multitude,    therefore,    some  of   them   do    these  things 
casually ;  but  others  through  custom  from  habit.  Because, 
however,  this  is  possible  *     Soth  ways,  it  is  evident  that 
these  particulars  may  also  ,^^duced  to  a  certain  method. 
For  it  is  p>ossible  to  survey  the  cause  why  some  men 
render  what   they  assert  probable,   from  custom,  and 
others  from  chance.    But  all  men  now  will  acknowledge 
that  a  thing  of  this  kin3  is  the  work  of  art. 


ArisL 


VOL.  I. 


THE  ART  OP 


BOOK  I. 


At  present,  therefore,  those  who  compose  the  arts  of 
orations  [i.  e.  who  unfold  the  art  of  rhetoric,]  explain 
only  a  small  part  of  rhetoric.  For  credibility  is  the  only 
artificial  part  of  the  art ;  but  the  other  parts  are  addi- 
tions. The  rhetoricians,  however,  of  the  present  day, 
say  nothing  about  enthymemes,  which  are  the  substantial 
part  of  credibility ;  but  their  attention  is  for  the  most 
part  directed  to  thmgs  foreign  to  the  purpose.  For 
accusation,  pity,  anger,  and  such  like  passions  of  the 
soul,  do  not  pertain  to  the  thing  itself  [which  is  to  be 
proved,]  but  to  the  judge.  Hence,  if  all  judicial  pro- 
cesses  were  conducted  in  the  same  manner  as  they  are  at 
present  in  some  cities,  and  especially  in  those  that  are 
governed  by  good  laws,  these  rhetoricians  would  not 
have  any  thing  to  say.  For  with  respect  to  all  cities, 
some  think  it  necessary  that  the  laws  should  thus  ordain  ; 
but  this  method  is  adopted  by  others,  and  they  forbid 
rhetoricians  to  say  any  thing  foreign  to  the  purpose,  in 
the  same  manner  as  in  the  Areopagus.  And  in  this 
y'espect  they  thmk  rightly.  For  it  is  not  proper  to  per- 
vert  the  judge,  by  exciting  him  to  anger,  or  envy,  or 
pity  ;  since  this  is  just  as  if  some  one  should  make  the 
rule  distorted  which  he  intends  to  use.  Again,  it  is 
likewise  manifest  that  the  only  business  of  the  litigant  is 
to  show  that  a  thing  either  is,  or  is  not,  or  that  it  has, 
or  has  not  been  done.  But  with  respect  to  such  things 
as  the  legislator  has  not  defined  whether  they  are  great 
Of  small,  just  or  unjust,  thg|||)ught  to  be  known  by  the 
judge  himself,  and  he  is^^to  learn  them  from  the 
litigants.  It  is  especially  requisite,  therefore,  that  laws 
which  are  rightly  framed  should  define  all  such  parti- 
culars as  can  be  defined,  and  leave  very  little  to  be 
defined  by  the  judge.    And,  in  the  first  place,  indeed, 


CHAP.  I. 


RHETORIC. 


3 


this  is  requisite,  because  it  is  more  easy  to  obtain  one 
person,  or  a  few,  than  many  that  are  intelligent  and  wise, 
and  who  are  able  to  act  the  part  of  a  legislator  and  a 
judge.  In  the  next  place,  the  establishment  of  laws,  is 
the  effect  of  a  survey  from  a  long  series  of  past  time ; 
but  judgments  are  the  result  of  a  survey  from  recent 
times ;  so  that  it  is  difficult  for  those  who  judge  to  attri- 
bute what  is  just  and  advantageous  in  a  becoming  manner. 
That,  however,  which  is  the  greatest  [reason]  of  all  is, 
that  the  judgment  of  the  legislator  is  not  conversant 
with  particulars,  but  with  future  events,  and  universals ; 
but  the  judgment  of  the  barrister  and  the  judge  is 
directed  to  present  and  definite  circumstances;  with 
which  love  and  hatred  and  private  advantage  are  fre- 
quently  conjoined  ;  so  that  they  are  no  longer  sufficiently 
able  to  survey  the  truth,  but  their  own  peculiar  pleasure 
or  pain  darkens  their  judgment.  With  respect  to  other 
particulars,  therefore,  it  is  necessary,  as  we  have  said, 
that  very  little  should  be  left  in  the  power  of  the  judge. 
But  with  respect  to  the  enquiry  whether  a  thing  has 
been  done  or  not,  or  whether  it  will  or  will  not  take 
place,  or  is  or  is  not,  it  is  necessary  that  this  should 
be  left  to  the  judges ;  for  it  is  not  possible  that  these 
things  should  be  foreseen  by  the  legislator. 

If  then  this  be  the  case,  it  is  evident  that  those  rheto- 
ricians who  define  [othec  mrts  of  an  oration  except  cre- 
dibility] such  for  instaMJH^  what  the  proem  or  the  nar- 
ration should  contain,  and  each  of  the  other  parts, — 
these  exercise  their  art  in  things  foreign  to  the  purpose. 
For  in  these  they  effect  nothing  else  except  delivering 
the  method  by  which  the  judge  may  be  influenced  ;  but 
they  demonstrate  nothing  respecting  artificial  credibility  j 


THE  ART  OF 


BQOK  I« 


viz.  whence  some  one  may  become  enthyniematic  [or 
possess  the  power  of  discovering  artificial  proofs  of  that 
which  is  the  subject  of  controversy].  Hence,  though 
there  is  the  same  method  respecting  popular,  and  judicial 
orations,  and  the  popular  is  better  and  more  political 
than  the  method  pertaining  to  contracts,  yet  rhetoricians 
of  the  present  day  are  silent  as  to  the  popular  method, 
but  all  of  them  endeavour  to  unfold  the  art  pertaining 
to  the  judicial  genus,  because  it  is  less  advantageous  in 
popular  orations  to  assert  what  is  foreign  to  the  purpose; 
and  a  popular  oration  is  less  pernicious  than  a  judicial 
discussion,  but  is  more  common.  For  in  the  former  the 
judge  decides  about  appropriate  concerns ;  so  that  nothing 
else  is  necessary  than  to  show  that  the  thing  is  as  the 
counsellor  asserts  it  to  be.  In  judicial  processes,  how- 
ever, this  is  not  sufficient,  but  it  is  requisite  to  pay  atten- 
tion to  the  hearer  ;  for  the  decision  is  concerning  things 
'  of  a  foreign  nature.  Hence,  the  judges,  looking  to 
their  own  advantage,  and  regarding  their  own  pleasure, 
gratify  the  litigants,  but  do  not  decide  with  justice.- 
Hence,  too,  as  I  have  before  observed,  in  many  places 
the  law  forbids  any  thing  foreign  to  the  purpose  to  be 
said  ;  and  in  these  places  this  law  is  sufficiently  observed 
by  the  judges  themselves. 


Since,  however,  it  is  evident  that  the  artificial  method 
is  conversant  with  credibility  ;  but  credibility  is  a  certain 
demonstration  ;  for  we  then  ^■pially  believe  in  a  thing 
when  we  think  it  is  accompaffia  with  demonstration  ; 
and  a  rhetorical  demonstration  is  an  enthymeme  ;  and 
this  in  short  possesses  the  greatest  authority  of  all  credi- 
bilities  j  but  an  enthymeme  is  a  certain  syllogism,  and  it 
is  the  province  either  of  the  whole,  or  of  a  certain  part 


CHAP.  I. 


RHETORIC. 


df  dialectic  to  pay  attention  similarly  to  every  syllogism ; 
this  being  the  case,  it  is  evident  that  he  who  is  eminently 
capable  of  surveying  this,  viz.  from  what  propositions 
and  how,  a  syllogism  may  be  made,  he  will  be  especially 
enthymematic,  in  consequence  of  assuming  what  the 
particulars  are  with  which  enthymemes  are  conversant, 
and  what  differences  they  possess  with  respect  to  logical 
syllogisms.  For  it  is  the  province  of  the  same  power  to 
perceive  truth,  and  what  is  similar  to  truth  ;  and  at  the 
same  time,  men  are  by  nature  sufficiently  adapted  to 
[the  perception  of]  truth,  and  for  the  most  part  obtain 
it.  Hence,  he  who  sagaciously  conjectures  probabilities, 
is  disposed  similarly  to  him  who  perceives  truth.  That 
others,  therefore,  artificially  discuss  things  foreign  to  the 
purpose,  and  why  they  especially  incline  to  judicial  pre^ 
cepts,  is  evident  [from  what  has  been  said]. 

But  rhetoric  is  useful  because  things  true  and  just  are 
naturally  more  excellent  than  their  contraries ;  so  that 
unless  judgments  are  formed  according  to  what  is  fit, 
what  is  more  excellent  will  be  vanquished  by  its  con- 
trary;  and  this  is  a  thing  worthy  of  reprehension. 
Farther  still,  though  we  should  possess  the  most  accurate 
science,  it  is  not  easy  when  we  speak  to  persuade  some 
persons,  by  employing  that  science.  For  a  scientific 
oration  proceeds  from  discipline,  and  it  is  impossible  from 
this  [to  persuade  the  unlearned,]  but  it  is  necessary 
[when  addressing  thes^  to  procure  credibility,  and 
frame  arguments  from  stWl  things  as  are  common  ;  just 
as  we  have  asserted  in  the  Topics,  respecting  a  confer- 
ence  with  the  multitude.  Fanher  still,  the  power  of 
being  able  to  persuade  contraries,  [or  the  ability  of  dis- 
putmg  on  each  side  of  a  question]  is  necessary,  in  the 


/ 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  I. 


CHAP.  II. 


RHETORIC. 


same  manner  as  in  syllogisms,  not  in  order  that  we  may 
do  both ;  for  it  is  not  proper  to  persuade  to  what  is  base ; 
but  that  we  may  not  be  ignorant  how  contraries  subsist, 
and  that  when  another  person  employs  those  arguments 
unjustly,  we  may  be  able  to  solve  them.  No  one,  there- 
fore, of  the  other  arts  syllogistically  concludes  con- 
traries ;  but  this  is  alone  effected  by  dialectic  and  rhe- 
toric ;  for  both  of  them  are  similarly  conversant  with 
contraries  ;  though  the  things  which  are  the  subjects  of 
their  consideration  do  not  subsist  similarly,  but  always, 
as  I  may  say,  things  which  are  true,  and  naturally  more 
excellent,  are  more  syllogistic,  and  adapted  to  procure 
persuasion.  Besides,  it  is  absurd,  that  it  should  be 
shameful  for  a  man  not  to  be  able  to  give  assistance  to 
his  body,  and  that  it  should  not  be  shameful  for  him  not 
to  be  able  to  assist  himself  by  the  reasoning  power, 
which  is  more  the  peculiarity  of  man,  than  the  use  of  the 
body.  If,  however,  it  should  be  objected  that  he  who 
uses  unjustly  the  rhetorical  power,  may  injure  others  in 
a  great  degree,  this  objection  is  common  to  every  thing 
that  is  good,  except  virtue,  and  especially  to  the  most 
useful  things,  such  as  strength,  health,  richer,  and  mili- 
tary command.  For  he  who  uses  things  of  this  kind 
j'UStly,  may  benefit  others  in  the  greatest  degree,  and  by 
using  them  unjustly  may  effect  the  greatest  injury. 

That  rhetoric,  therefore,  is  not  conversant  with  one 
certain  definite  genus,  but  resembles  in  this  respect  dia- 
lectic, and  that  it  is  useful  •«  evident.  It  is  likewise 
evident,  that  the  employment  of  rhetoric  is  not  to  per- 
suade, but  to  perceive  on  every  subject  what  is  adapted 
to  procure  persuasion,  in  the  same  manner  as  in  all  other 
arts.    For  it  is  not  the  business  of  medicioe  to  produce 


health,  but  to  do  every  thing  as  much  as  possible  which 
may  procure  it ;  since  the  healing  art  may  be  well  exer- 
cised upon  those  that  are  incapable  of  being  restored  to 
health.  In  addition  likewise  to  what  has  been  said,  it  is 
the  province  of  the  same  power  to  perceive  what  is  per- 
suasive, and  what  appears  to  be  so,  just  as  it  is  the  pro- 
vince of  dialectic  to  discern  what  is  a  [/rwe,]  and  what  ir» 
only  an  apparmt  syllogism.  For  the  sophistical  art  does 
not  consist  in  the  power  [pi  reasoning,]  but  in  deliberate 
choice ;  except  that  here  indeed  [viz.  in  the  rhetorical 
art,]  one  man  will  be  a  rhetorician  from  science,  but 
another  from  deliberate  choice.  There,  however,  [viz. 
in  dialectic  or  logic,]  the  sophist,  indeed,  is  from  delibe- 
rate choice,  but  the  logician  is  not  from  deliberate  choice, 
but  from  the  power  [of  reasoning.] 


CHAPTER  II. 


Now,  therefore,  we  shall  endeavour  to  speak  concern- 
ing the  method  itself,  [i.  e.  the  rhetorical  art]  and  [show] 
how,  and  from  what  particulars  we  may  be  able  to  obtain 
the  end  proposed  by  this  art.  Again,  therefore,  as  if 
defining  from  the  beginning,  let  us  discuss  what  remains. 
Let  rhetoric  then  be  the  pQwer  of  perceiving  in  everjf 
thing  thcU  which  is  capabk  of  producing  persuasion  ; 


t 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  I. 


for  this  is  the  employment  of  no  other  art ;  since  each  of 
ike  other  arts  is  doctrinal  and  persuasive  about  that  which 
is  the  subject  of  its  consideration.  Thus,  for  instance, 
medicine  is  doctrinal  and  persuasive  about  that  which  is 
salubrious  and  morbid ;  geometry,  about  the  properties 
accidental  to  magnitudes  ;  and  arithmetic  about  number. 
The  like  also  takes  place  in  the  other  arts  and  sciences. 
But  rhetoric,  as  I  may  say,  appears  to  be  able  to  survey 
about  any  given  thing,  what  is  adapted  to  produce  per- 
suasion. Hence,  also,  we  say,  that  it  does  not  possess 
aft  artificial  power  about  any  certain  peculiar  definite 
gfenus.  .V 

With  respect,  however,  to  things  which  procure  credi- 
bility, some  of  them  are  without  art,  but  others  are  arti- 
ficial. And  I  call  those  without  art,  which  are  not 
devized  by  us,  but  exist  prior  [to  all  artificial  invention,] 
such  as  witnesses,  questions,  writings,  and  other  particu- 
lars of  the  like  kind ;  but  those  are  artificial  which  are 
capable  of  being  procured* methodically,  and  by  us ;  so 
that  it  is  requisite  to  use  the  former,  and  discover  the 
latter. 


Of  the  credibility,  however, '  Which  is  procured  by 
argument  there  are  three  species.  For  one  kind  indeed 
consists  in  the  manners  of  the  speaker ;  another  in  the 
fiqx)sition  of  the  hearer;  and  the  third  in  the  argument 
Itself,  in  consequence  of  demonstrating,  or  appearing  to 
demonstrate.  Credibility,  therefore,  is  procured  through 
manners,  when  the  oration  is  delivered  in  such  a  way,  as 
to- render  the  speaker  worthy  of  belief.  For  about  every 
thing,  in  short,  we  believe  the  worthy  in  a  greater  de- 
gree, and   more  rapidly ;    but  in  those  particulars  in 


CHAP.  II. 


RHETORIC. 


9 


which  an  accurate  knowledge  cannot  be  obtained,  and 
which  are  ambiguous,  we  entirely  confide  in  [the  deci- 
sion of]  the  worthy.  It  is,  however,  requisite  that  this 
also  should  happen  through  the  oration,  and  not  [entirely] 
from  any  previous  opinion  respecting  the  speaker.  For 
we  must  not  admit  what  some  teachers  of  rhetoric  have 
asserted  in  their  art,  that  the  probity  of  the  speaker  con- 
tributes nothing  to  persuasion ;  since  nearly,  as  I  may 
say,  manners  possess  the  most  powerful  and  principal 
credibility.  But  credibility  is  procured  through  the 
hearers,  when  their  passions  are  influenced  by  the  ora- 
tion ;  for  we  do  not  similarly  form  a  judgment  when  we 
grieve  or  fejoice,  love  or  hate ;  to  which  [species  of 
credibility,]  we  assert  that  those  who  now  deliver  the  art 
of  rhetoric,  alone  direct  their  attention.  Each  of  these 
particulars,  however,  will  be  elucidated  by  us,  when  we 
speak  concerning  the  passions.  But  belief  is  produced 
through  arguments,  when  we  show  what  is  true,  or  ap- 
pears to  be  true  from  the  probabilities  pertaining  to  the 
several  objects  of  enquiry.  Since,  however,  credibility  is 
eflPected  through  these  things,  it  is  evident  that  to  obtain 
the  three  species  of  it  [above-mentioned]  is  the  province 
of  him  who  is  able  to  syllogize,  who  can  survey  what 
pertains  to  manners  and  the  virtues,  and  in  the  third  place 
what  pertains  to  the  passions,  what  each  of  them  is,  what 
quality  it  possesses,  and  from  what  particulars  it  is  inge- 
nerated  [in  the  hearer,]  and  how ;  so  that  it  happens  that 
rhetoric  is  as  it  were  something  which  grows  upon  dialec- 
tic and  the  discussion  concerning  manners,  and  it  is  jufet 
to  call  it  political.  Hence,  rhetoric  assumes  the  form  of 
the  political  [science,]  and  those  who  profess  it,  do  so 
partly  through  ignorance,  j)artly  from  arrogance,  and 
partly  from  other  human  causes.     For  it  is  a  certain  par- 


10 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  I* 


tide  and  resemblance  of  dialectic,  as  we  observed  in  the 
beginning  of  this  treatise.  For  neither  of  them  is  the 
science  of  any  thing  definite,  and  which  shows  how  a 
thing  subsists,  but  they  are  certain  powers  of  procuring 
arguments.  And  thus  we  have  nearly  spoken  sufficiently 
concerning  the  power  which  they  possess,  and  how  they 
subsist  with  respect  to  each  othen 

With  respect,  however,  to  proof  either  real  or  appa- 
rent,  in  the  same  manner  as  in  dialectic,  one  kii^  is 
induction,  another  is  [a  true]  syllogism,  and  a  third  is 
apparent  syllogism ;  thus,  also,  similarly  in  rhetoric  ;  for 
example,  indeed,  is  induction ;  but  enthymeme  is  a  syl- 
logism.  But  I  call  enthymeme,  indeed,  a  rhetorical  syl- 
logism ;  and  example  a  rhetorical  induction.  All  [rhe- 
toricians], however,  who  procure  belief  by  the  proofs 
which  they  adduce,  effect  it,  either  by  the  examples  which 
they  bring,  or  by  enthymemes ;  and  in  a  certain  respect, 
there  is  nothing  else  besides  these.  Hence,  if  in  short  it 
is  necessary  to  point  out  any  person  or  thing  by  syllogism 
or  induction,  (but  this  is  evident  to  us  from  the  analytics) 
it  is  necessary  that  each  of  those  should  be  the  same  with 
each  of  these.  But  what  the  difierence  is  between  exam- 
pie  and  enthymeme  is  evident  from  the  Topics.  For 
there  syllogism  and  induction  are  previously  discussed  j 
because  if  it  is  shown  in  many  and  similar  things  that 
what  we  assert  is  true,  there  indeed  it  is  induction,  but 
h^e  it  is  example.  When,  however,  certain  things 
existing,  something  else  besides  happens  from  these, 
because  these  subsist  either  universally,  or  for  the  most 
part ; — ^when  this  is  the  case,  iherey  indeed,  it  is  called 
syllogism,  but  here  enthymeme.  But  it  is  evident  that 
each  form  of  rhetoric  is  benefited  [by  these  two].      For 


CHAP.  II. 


RHETORIC. 


II 


the  like  to  what  we  have  observed  in  the  Methodical 
treatises  takes  place,  also,  in  this  treatise.  For  some  ora- 
tions are  of  the  nature  of  examples,  but  others  are  enthy- 
memadc.  And  in  a  similar  manner  with  respect  to  rho* 
toricians,  some  are  delighted  with  examples,  and  others 
with  enthymemes.  Arguments,  therefore,  from  examples 
are  no  less  calculated  to  persuade  [than  others,]  but 
those  from  enthymemes  cause  greater  perturbation.  But 
the  reason  of  this,  and  how  each  of  these  [viz.  of  exam- 
ples and  enthymemes]  is  to  be  used,  we  shall  hereaftei* 
explain. 


Now,  however,  let  us  more  fully  and  clearly  discuss 
these  very  particulars  themselves.  For  that  which  is  per- 
suasive, is  persuasive  to  some  one.  And  one  thing, 
indeed,  is  immediately  of  itself  persuasive  and  credible ; 
but  another,  because  it  appears  to  be  proved  through 
things  that  are  credible.  No  art,  however,  speculates 
that  which  is  particular.  Thus  for  instance,  medicine 
does  not  speculate  what  is  salubrious  to  Socrates  or  Cal- 
lias,  but  what  is  so  to  such  a  one,  or  to  such  persons  [in 
general] ;  for  this  is  artificial.  But  particulars  are  infi- 
nite, and  are  not  the  objects  of  science.  Nor  does  rhe- 
toric speculate  opinable  particulars ;  such  as  what  is  the 
subject  of  opinion  to  Socrates  or  Hippias,  bat  that  which 
is  the  subject  of  opinion  to  such  or  such  persons,  in  the 
same  manner  as  dialectic.  For  dialectic,  also,  syllogizes, 
not  from  such  things  as  are  casual ;  since  certain  things 
appear  [to  be  credible]  even  to  those  that  are  delirious ; 
biK  dialectic  syllogizes  from  such  things  as  require  to  be 
developed  by  a  reasoning  process,  and  rhetoric  from  such 
things  as  are  accustomed  to  take  place  in  consultation. 
The    employment,    however,   of    rhetoric    consists    in 


12 


THE    ART    OF 


•  BOOK  !• 


such  particulars  as  are  the  subject  of  our  cotisultadon, 
and  respecting  which  we  have  no  art,  and  it  is  also  con- 
versant with  such  hearers  as  are  incapable  of  perceiving 
[a  conclusion  which  is  deduced]  through  many  [media,] 
or  of  syllogizing  remotely,  [i.  e.  who  are  incapable  of 
a  long  series  of  reasoning.]  But  we  consult  about 
those  things  the  subsistence  of  which  appears  to  be  possi- 
ble in  both  ways,  [i.  e.  which  may  subsist  otherwise  than 
they  do.]  For  with  respect  to  such  things  as  cannot 
either  in  the  past,  or  future,  or  present  time,  have  a  dif- 
ferent subsistence,  no  one  consults  about  these,  conceiv- 
ing that  they  thus  subsist.  For  it  is  not  possible  for  any 
one  to  consult  otherwise  than  thus  [about  things  of  this 
kind.]  But  it  is  possible  to  syllogize  and  collect,  some 
things,  indeed,  from  such  particulars  as  have  been  pre- 
viously syllogistically  inferred,  but  others  from  things 
not  inferred  by  syllogism,  but  which  require  syllogism, 
because  they  are  not  probable.  And  it  is  necessary, 
indeed,  with  respect  to  these,  that  the  consecution  of  the 
one  should  not  be  easy,  on  account  of  its  length ;  for 
the  judge  is  supposed  to  be  simple ;  and  that  the  other 
should  not  be  adapted  to  persuade,  because  it  does  not 
proceed  from  things  acknowledged,  nor  from  such  as  are 
probable.  Hence,  it  is  necessary  that  enthy meme  and 
example  should  be  conversant  with  such  things  as  for 
the  most  part  admit  of  a  various  subsistence.  And 
example,  indeed,  requires  induction;  but  enthymeme, 
syllogism.  It  is,  likewise,  necessary  that  enthymeme  and 
example  should  consist  from  a  few  things,  and  frequently 
from  fewer  than  those  from  which  the  first  syllogism 
consists.  For  if  any  one  of  these  is  known,  it  is  not 
necessary  to  say  any  thing  [farther;]  since  the  hearer 
himself  will  add  this.   Thus  for  instance,  for  the  purpose 


CHAP.  H. 


RHETORIC. 


13 


of  concluding  that  Doricus  was  victorious  in  that  contest 
in  which  the  victors  were  crowned,  it  is  sufficient  to  say, 
that  he  conquered  in  the  Olympic  games ;  but  there  is 
no  occasion  to  add  that  he  was  crowned  because  he  con* 
quered  in  the  Olympic  games ;  for  this  is  known  by  all 
men. 


There  are,  however,  a  few  necessary  things  from 
which  rhetorical  syllogisms  consist ;  for  many  of  the  par- 
ticulars which  are  the  subjects  of  judgment  and  consi- 
deration, may  have  a  various  subsistence,  or  subsist 
otherwise  than  they  do ;  since  men  make  their  actions 
the  subjects  of  their  consultation  and  consideration.  All 
actions,  likewise,  belong  to  the  genus  of  things  which 
are  contingent,  and  no  one  of  these,  as  I  may  say,  is 
from,  necessity ;  but  things  which  are  for  the  most  part 
accidental  and  contingent,  must  necessarily  be  syllogisti- 
cally collected  from  other  things  which  are  of  the  like 
kind ;  and  such  as  are  necessary  must  be  deduced  by 
syllogism  from  necessary  propositions.  But  this  is  evident 
to  us  from  the  Analytics.  This  then  being  the  case,  i< 
is  manifest  that  with  respect  to  those  things  from  which 
enthymemes  are  deduced,  some,  indeed,  are  necessary, 
but  most  of  them  are  such  as  have  a  frequency  of  subsist- 
ence. For  enthymemes  are  deduced  from  probabilities 
and  signs ;  so  that  it  is  necessary  each  of  these  should  be 
the  same  with  each.^  For  the  probable  is  that  which: 
subsists  for  the  most  part ;  but  not  simply,  according  to 
the  definition  of  some  persons.  That,  however,  which 
is  assumed  respecting  things  which  may  have  a  various 
subsistence  has  the  same  relation  to  that  to  which  the 

*  1.  e.  The  propositions  from  which  enthymemes  are  deduced  arc 
the  same  with  probabilities  and  signs. 


14 


THE    ART    OP 


BOOK  I. 


probable  is  directed,  as  universal  to  particular.  But 
with  respect  to  signs,  one,  indeed,  has  such  a  subsistence 
as  some  one  of  particulars  to  that  which  is  universal ;  but 
another,  as  some  one  of  universals  to  that  which  is  par- 
ticular.  And  of  these  signs,  that,  indeed,  which  is 
necessary,  is  an  argument ;  but  that  which  is  not  neces- 
sary, is  anonymous  according  to  difference.  I  call, 
therefore,  those  things  necessary  from  which  syllogism  is 
produced ;  on  which  account,  also,  a  sign  of  this  kind  is 
tekmerion,  or  an  argument.  For  when  rhetoricians 
fancy  that  what  they  say  cannot  be  solved,  then  they 
think  they  have  adduced  an  argument,  as  being  some- 
thing proved  and  definite.  For  tekmar,  and  bound,  or 
timit,  are  the  same,  according  to  the  ancient  tongue. 
With  respect  to  signs,  however,  that  indeed  which  sub- 
sists  as  particular  to  universal,  is  just  as  if  some  one 
should  say  it  is  a  sign  that  wise  are  just  men;  for  Socrates 
was  wise  and  just.  This,  therefore,  is  a  sign  ;  but  what 
has  been  asserted  though  true  may  be  solved  ;  for  it  is 
unsyllogistic.  The  following,  however,  as,  for  instance, 
if  some  one  should  say,  it  is  a  sign  that  a  certain  person 
is  diseased,  for  he  has  a  fever ;  or  that  some  female  has 
been  delivered,  because  she  has  milk,  are  necessary  signs; 
and  which  are  the  only  signs  that  are  teJcmeria.  For 
these  alone  if  true  cannot  be  solved.  But  that  which 
subsists  as  universal  to  particular,  is  as  if  some  one 
should  say,  it  is  a  sign  that  a  certain  person  has  a  fever ; 
for  he  breathes  short  and  frequently.  This,  however, 
may  be  solved  though  it  is  true.  For  it  is  possible  that 
one  who  has  not  a  fever  may  labour  under  a  difficulty  of 
breathing.  We  have,  therefore,  now  shown  what  the 
probable,  a  sign,  and  an  argument,  are,  and  in  what  they 
differ  from  each  other.      These,   however,   are  more 


CHAP.  11. 


RHETORIC. 


15 


clearly  unfolded  in  the  Analytics,  where,  also,  it  is 
shown  from  what  cause  some  of  them  are  unsyllogistic, 
but  others  are  syllogistically  deduced.  And  with  respect 
to  example,  that  it  is  indeed  induction,  and  what  the  sub- 
jects  are  about  which  it  is  an  induction,  we  have  already 
shown.  It  is,  however,  neither  as  a  part  to  the  whole, 
nor  as  the  whole  to  a  part,  nor  as  whole  to  whole  ;  but 
that  which  is  as  a  part  to  a  part,  and  as  the  similar  to  the 
similar,  when  both  are  under  the  same  genus,  but  the 
one  is  more  known  than  the  other,  is  example.  Thus 
for  instance,  that  Dionysius  endeavoured  to  establish  a 
tyrannical  government,  when  he  required  a  guard,  is  an 
example ;  for  Pisistratus,  who  prior  to  him  attempted  the 
same  thing,  demanded  a  guard,  and  having  obtained  it, 
tyrannized  [over  the  Athenians ;]  and  Theagenes  over 
the  Megarensians.  All  such  others,  likewise,  as  are 
known  [to  have  acted  in  this  manner]  become  an  exam- 
ple of  Dionysius,  with  respect  to  whom  it  is  not  yet 
known  whether  he  requires  a  guard  with  a  view  to  a 
tyrannical  government.  All  these,  however,  are  under 
the  same  universal,  viz.  that  he  aspires  after  a  tyranny 
who  requires  a  guard.  And  thus  we  have  shown  what 
the  particulars  are  from  which  the  credibility  that  appears 
to  be  demonstrative  is  derived. 


16 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  I. 


CHAPTER  III. 


With  respect  to  enthyniemes,  however,  there  is  a  great 
difference,  of  which  nearly  all  [the  professors  of  rhetoric] 
are  particularly  ignorant,  and  which  is  conversant  with 
the  dialectic  method  of  syllogisms.  For  some  enthy- 
memes  pertain  to  rhetoric,  just  as  some  syllogisms  subsist 
according  to  the  dialectic  method ;  but  others  pertain  to 
other  arts  and  faculties,  some  of  which  are  in  existence, 
and  others  are  not  yet  discovered.  Hence,  they  are  not 
understood  by  those  that  hear  them,  and  if  rhetoricians 
employ  them  more  than  is  fit,  they  relinquish  their  own 
art,  and  exchange  it  for  some  other.  But  what  we  have 
said,  will  become  more  evident,  by  a  more  copious  dis- 
cussion. For  I  say  that  dialectic  and  rhetorical  syllogisms 
are  those  which  are  formed  from  propositions  derived 
from  certain  places.  And  these  are  such  as  are  conver- 
sant  in  common  about  things  that  are  just  and  natural, 
and  about  political  concerns,  and  many  things  w^hich  are 
specifically  different ;  such  for  instance  as  the  place  re- 
specting the  more  and  the  less.  For  we  cannot  in  any 
greater  degree  syllogize  from  this  place,  or  produce  an 
enthymeme  from  it  respecting  what  is  just  or  natural, 
than  respecting  any  thing  else ;  though  these  things  are 
specifically  different.  But  peculiar  or  proper  syllogisms 
are  those  which  consist  from  propositions  pertaining  to 
each  species  and  genus.     Thus,  for  instance,  the  propo- 


CHAP.  HI. 


RHETORIC, 


37 


sitions  respecting  natural  things  are  those  from  which 
neither  an  enthymeme  nor  a  syllogism  respecting  ethics 
can   be   formed.     And  ethical   enthymemes   are  those 
which  are  formed  from  propositions  peculiar  to  ethical 
subjects,  and  from  which  physical  enthymemes  cannot  be 
produced.     The  like,  also,  take  place  in  every  subject. 
And  those  [dialectic  and  rhetorical  syllogisms,]  indeed, 
do  not  render  a  man  wise  in  any  kind  of  discussion,  be* 
cause  they  are  not  conversant  with  any  [definite]  subject ; 
but  \^ith  respect  to  these  [that  are  peculiar  and  approl 
priate,]  in  proportion  as  the  selection  of  them  is  better, 
in   such  proportion  will  he   who   makes  the  selection 
latently  produce  a  science  different  from  dialectic  and 
rhetoric.     For  if  he  should  happen  to  meet  with  the 
principles  [of  any  science]  the  peculiar  syllogisms  will 
no  longer  pertain  either  to  dialectic  or  rhetoric,  but  to 
that  science  of  which  he  possesses  the  principles. 

Most  enthymemes,  however,  are  derived  from  those 
forms  which  are  particular  and  proper;  and  a  few  of  them 
are  derived  from  common  [places.]  As  in  the  Topics, 
therefore,  so  here  the  species  and  the  places  of  enthy- 
memes,  from  whence  they  are  to  be  assumed,  must  be 
distinguished.  But  I  call  species,  indeed,  the  peculiar 
propositions  according  to  each  genus ;  and  places,  those 
propositions  which  are  similarly  common  to  all  genera. 
We  shall,  therefore,  speak  first  concerning  the  species. 

And  in  the  first  place  we  shall  assume  the  genera  of 
rhetoric,  in  order  that  we  may  ascertain  how  many  there 
are,  and  with  respect  to  these  we  shall  separately  assume 
the  elements  and  the  propositions.  But  the  genera  of 
rhetoric  are  three  in  number ;  for  so  many,  also,  are  the 


Arisl, 


VOL.  I. 


B 


18 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  It 


auditors  of  orations.  For  an  oration  is  composed  from 
three  things,  from  the  speaker,  from  the  thing  about 
which  he  speaks,  and  from  the  person  to  whom  he  speaks. 
The  end,  also,  [of  the  speaker]  is  directed  to  this  last,  I 
mean  to  the  hearer.  But  it  is  necessary  that  the  auditor 
should  cither  be  a  spectator  or  a  judge ;  and  that  the 
judge  should  be  a  judge  either  of  things  past  or  future. 
He,  however,  who  judges  of  future  events,  is  as  it  were 
one  who  speaks  in  an  assembly ;  but  he  who  judges  of 
past  events,  is  as  it  were  one  who  determines  causes  ^ 
and  he  who  judges  of  the  power  [of  the  oration,]  is  as 
it  were  a  spectator.  Hence,  there  will  necessarily  be 
three  genera  of  rhetorical  orations,  the  deliberative,  or 
that  which  pertains  to  counsel,  the  judicial,  and  the  de- 
monstrative. But  of  counsel,  one  part  is  exhortation, 
and  another  dehortation.  For  always,  both  those  who 
privately  give  counsel,  and  those  who  publicly  harangue, 
do  one  of  these,  [i.  e.  either  exhort,  or  dissuade.]  Of 
judgment,  however,  one  part  is  accusation^  but  another 
defence.  For  those  that  are  engaged  in  controversy 
must  necessarily  do  one  or  other  of  these.  But  of  the 
demonstrative,  one  part  is  praise,  and  another  blame. 
There  are,  also,  times  appropriated  to  each  of  these,  to 
him  who  gives  counsel,  indeed,  the  future  ^  for  he  con- 
sults about  future  events,  and  concerning  these  either 
exhorts,  or  dissuades.  But  the  time  which  is  adapted 
to  him  who  judges,  is  the  past ;  for  always  concerning 
things  which  have  been  done,  one  accuses,  and  another 
apologizes.     And  to  him  who  demonstrates, '  the  most 

■  It  must  be  carefully  observed,  that  demomtratton  in  rhetoric 
means  only  the  prababU  proof  of  a  thing,  and  not,  as  in  science, 
a  syllogistic  process  from  self-evident  principles,  the  conclusions 
of  which  process  are  always  necessarili/  true* 


CHAP.  III. 


RHETORIC. 


19 


appropriate  time  is  the  present ;  for  all  those  who  demon- 
strate praise  or  blame  according  to  existing  circumstances. 
Frequently,  however,  they  employ  the  past  time  for  tha 
purpose  of  recollecting,  and  they  form  a  conjecture  of 
future  events. 

But  the  end  to  each  of  these  is  different :  and  as  there 
are  three  persons  there  are  three  ends ;  to  him  who  givef^: 
counsel,  indeed,  the  end  is  that  which  is  advantageous 
and  detrimental.     For  the  advice  of  him  who  exhorts  is 
directed  to  that  which  is  better ;  but  he  who  dissuades, 
dissuades  from  that  which  is  worse;  and  at  the  same  time 
they  assume  other  things  with  a  view  to  this,  viz.  either 
the  just  or  the  unjust,  either  the  beautiful  in  conduct,  or 
the  base.    But  to  those  who  judge  in  courts  of  judicature,:^ 
the  end  is  the  just  and  the  unjust ;  and  they  also  assume 
other  things  with  a  view  to  these.     And  to  those  that 
praise  and  blame,  the  end  is  the  beautiful  and  the  base  ia 
conduct ;  and  they  likewise  refer  other  things  to  these. 
An  indication,  however,  that  the  end  to  each  of  these,  is 
what  we  have  said  it  is,  is  this,  that  sometimes  there*  is- 
no  controversy  about  other  things.     Thus  for  instance, 
he  who  is  tried  will  assert  that  the  thing  was  not  done, 
or  that  he  has  committed  no  injury  ;  but  he  will  never 
acknowledge  that  he  has  acted  unjustly ;  for  if  he  did, 
the  trial  would  be  unnecessary.     In  like  manner,  those' 
who  give  counsel  frequently  admit  other  things,  but  will 
not  acknowledge  that  they  have  advised  what  is  disad- 
vantageous,  or  that  they  have  dissuaded  from  what  is 
beneficial.    Frequently,  however,  they  are  not  at  all  con- 
cerned whether  it  is  not^unjust  to  enslave  the  neighbour- 
ing people,   and  those  who  have  done  them  no  injury. 
In  like  manner,  also,  ihosse  who  praise,  and  those  who 


20 


TH£  ART  OF 


BOOK  I. 


blame,  do  not  consider  whether  the  subject  of  their 
praise  or  blame  has  acted  advantageously  or  perniciously, 
but  frequently  applaud  him  because,  disregarding  his 
own  interest,  he  performed  some  worthy  action.  Thus 
for  instance,  they  praise  Achilles,  because  he  gave  assist- 
ance to  his  friend  Patroclus,  though  he  knew  it  was 
necessary  that  he  should  die  himself  [by  giving  this 
assistance,]  and  that  it  was  in  his  power  to  live.  But  to 
Achilles,  indeed,  a  death  of  this  kind  was  more  honour-  > 
able  ;  and  to  live,  more  advantageous. 

From  what  has  been  said,  however,  it  is  evident  that 
it  is  necessary  to  possess  in  the  first  place  propositions 
about  these  things.  For  arguments  (tecmeria),  probabi- 
lities, and  signs,  are  rhetorical  propositions.  For  in  short, 
syllogism  is  from  propositions;  but  enthymeme  is  a 
syllogism  consisting  from  the  above-mentioned  propo- 
sitions. 

Since,  however,  impossibilities  cannot  be  performed 
either  at  present  or  in  future,  but  this  Cjsui  only  be  asserted 
of  possibilities;  and  since,  likewise,  it  is  not  possible 
that  things  which  are  neither  done,  nor  will  be  done, 
should  be  performed  at  present,  or  in  future,  it  is  neces- 
sary that  he  who  counsels,  he  who  judges,  and  he  who 
demonstrates,  should  possess  propositions  concerning  the 
possible  and  impossible,  and  whether  a  thing  has  been 
done  or  not,  and  whether  it  will  be  or  not.  Farther 
still,  since  all  those  who  praise  and  blame,  who  exhort 
and  dissuade,  who  accuse  and  defend,  not  only  endea- 
vour to  show  the  particulars  we  have  mentioned,  but  also 
something  which  is  great  or  small,  good  or  evil,  beautiful 
or  base,  just  or  unjust,  whether  they  speak  of  these 


^IB*.    -^.JSte**^A.. 


-^     ■■ -■hJ^m  Hm^»    ^JgJriUfc'jlMgiii^rt'*  t-     ■IJ>  #■    ^"f  xi.  '  aJU.mi 


CHAP.  IV. 


RHETORIC. 


21 


things  by  themselves,  or  compare  them  with  each  other, 
this  being  the  case,  it  is  evident  that  it  is  requisite  to  have 
propositions  concerning  magnitude  and  parvitude,  the 
greater  and  the  less,  the  universal  and  the  particular ; 
such  for  instance  as  what  is  a  greater  or  less  good,  an  un' 
just,  or  a  just  action  ;  and  in  a  similar  manner  in  other 
things.  And  thus  we  have  shovm  what  the  things  are 
concerning  which  it  is  necessary  to  assume  propositions. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


•    In  the  next  place,    a  distinction  must  be  peculiarly 
made  respecting  each  of  these ;  as  for  instance,  what  the 
subjects  of  consultation  are ;  with  what  demonstrative 
orations  are  conversant  ;  and  in  the  third  place  what  the 
subjects  are  about  which  judgments  are  employed.     In 
the  first  place,  therefore,   it   must  be  assumed  what  the 
kind  of  good  or  evil   is  about   which  he   who  advises 
counsels;  since  he  does  not  give  counsel  about  all  things, 
but  about  such  as  may  happen  to  be  or  not.     But  with 
respect  to  such  things  as  necessarily  either  are  or  will  be, 
or  which  cannot  possibly  exist,   about   these   there  is  no 
consultation.     Hence,  neither  is  there  consultation  about 
all  contingent  events.     For  there  are  some  goods  from 
•nature,  and  some  from  fortune,  which  notwithstanding 


22 


THE    ART   9F 


BOOK  I. 


CHAP.  IV. 


RHETORIC. 


23 


they  are  contingent,  and  may  or  may  not  be,  yet  coift* 
sultation  contributes  nothing  to  them.  But  it  is  evident 
that  consultation  is  respecting  such  things  as  are  naturally 
adapted  to  be  referred  to  us,  and  the  principle  of  the 
generation  of  which  is  in  our  power*  For  our  attention 
is  exerted  thus  far,  till  we  find  whether  it  is  possible  or 
impossible  for  us  to  perform  such  things. 

Accurately^  therefore,  to  enumerate  the  several  parti- 
culars, and  to  distribute  into  species  the  subjects  of  po- 
pular discussion  ;  and  besides  this,  to  determine  accord* 
ing  to  truth  as  much  as  is  possible  concerning  them,  it  is 
tiot  necessary  at  present  to  investigate,  because  it  is  not 
the  province  of  the  rhetorical  art,  but  of  an  art  more 
allied  to  wisdom,  and  more  true  ;  for  even  now  much 
more  is  attributed  to  rhetoric  than  pertains  to  its  proper 
theorems.  For  that  which  we  have  before  observed 
is  true,  that  rhetoric  is  composed  indeed  from  the  analytic 
science,  and  from  that  political  science  which  is  conver- 
sant with  morals  ;  and  it  is  partly  similar  to  dialectic,  and 
partly  to  sophistical  arguments.  In  proportion,  however, 
as  any  one  endeavours  to  discuss  either  dialectic  or  rhe- 
toric, not  as  powers,  but  as  sciences^  so  far  he  igno* 
rantly  destroys  the  nature  of  them,  by  migrating  through 
this  attempt  into  the  sciences  of  certain  subject  things^ 
instead  of  alone  making  a  transition  into  the  powers  or 
faculties  of  words.  At  the  same  time,  we  shall  now 
speak  of  whatever  it  is  indeed  requisite  to  distinguish,  and 
which  leaves  matter  of  consideration  to  the  political 
science.  For  nearly  the  subjects  which  are  discussed  by 
all  those  who  give  counsel,  are  especially  five  in  number ; 
and  these  are,  concerning  wealth,  war,  and  peace ;  and 
besides  these,  the  defence  of  the  country,  exports  and 
imports  y  and  legislation. 


Hence,  it  is  requisite  that  he  who  is  to  give  counsel 
about  wealth,  should  know  the  revenues  of  the  country, 
what  they  are,  and  how,  if  they  are  deficient,  an  addition 
may  be  made  to  them ;  and  how,  if  they  are  too  small, 
they  may  be  augmented.  It  is  likewise  necessary  that  he 
should  be  acquainted  with  all  the  expenses  of  the  city,  and 
know  how  any  unnecessary  expense  may  be  removed, 
and  that  which  is  greater  [than  is  fit]  may  become  less. 
For  men  not  only  become  richer  by  an  accumulation  of 
property,  but  also  by  a  decrease  of  expense.  And  these 
things  may  not  only  be  surveyed  from  the  experience  of 
private  affairs  ;  but  in  order  to  give  counsel  about  these, 
it  is  necessary  to  be  skilled  in  what  has  been  discovered 
by  others. 

With  respect  however  to  war  and  peace,  It  is  necessary 
to  know  the  power  of  the  city,  what  the  forces  of  it  are  at 
present,  how  great  they  may  be,  what  the  nature  of  the 
strength  is  which  is  possessed,  and  what  addition  may  be 
made  to  it  j  and  farther  still,  what  wars  the  city  has  had, 
and  how  they  have  been  conducted.  And  it  is  not  only 
necessary  that  he  who  gives  counsel  should  understand 
these  concerns  of  his  own  country,  but  also  those  of  the 
neighbouring  countries.  He  should  likewise  be  particu- 
larly  acquainted  with  those  cities  against  which  it  is 
thought  fit  to  wage  war,  in  order  that  peace  may  be 
made  with  the  more  powerful,  and  war  undertaken  against 
the  less  powerful,  if  requisite.  He  must  also  know  the 
forces  of  these  cities,  whether  they  are  similar  or  dissi- 
milar. For  in  these,  it  is  possible  to  be  superior  or  infe- 
rior. It  is  likewise  necessary  for  this  purpose,  that  he 
shoD^ld  not  only  have  surveyed  the  wars  of  his  own  coun- 
try, but  likewise  the  event  of  the  wars  of  other  countries. 


"^1 


24 


THE    ART    OF 


.BOOK  I. 


For  similars  are  naturally   adapted  to  be  known  from 
similars. 


Farther  still,  with  respect  to  the  defence  of  the  coun- 
try, it  is  requisite  not  to  be  ignorant  how  it  may  be  de- 
fended, but  to  know  the  multitude  of  its  defenders,  and 
the  form  of  the  defence,  and  the  places  proper  for  garri- 
sons. This  knowledge,  however,  cannot  be  possessed  by 
him  who  is  unacquainted  with  the  country.  For  such 
knowledge  is  necessary,  in  order  that  if  the  defence  is 
less  [than  it  ought  to  be]  it  may  be  increased  ;  that 
if  superfluous  it  may  be  taken  away  ;  and  that  garrisons 
may  be  formed  in  more  appropriate  places. 

Again,  it  is  requisite  to  know  what  expense  is  neces- 
sary to  supply  the  city  with  provision,  what  the  country 
will  afford,  and  what  must  be  supplied  from  abroad. 
,  What  commodities  are  fit  to  be  imported,  and  what  ex- 
ported, in  order  that  conventions  and  compacts  may  be 
considered  accordingly.  For  there  are  two  descriptions 
of  men  with  whom  it  is  necessary  the  citizens  should  pre- 
serve themselves  blameless,  viz.  with  those  that  are  more 
powerful,  and  with  those  that  are  beneficial  to  them  [in 
a  commercial  point  of  view]. 

And  it  is  necessary,  indeed,  to  be  able  to  survey  all 
these  particulars  for  the  sake  of  security  ;  and  in  no  small 
degree  for  the  purpose  of  understanding  the  business  of 
legislation.  For  the  safety  of  the  city  is  in  the  laws. 
Hence,  it  is  necessary  to  know  how  many  forms  of  go- 
vernment there  are,  what  kind  of  things  are  advantageous 
to  each,  and  by  what  they  are  naturally  adapted  to  be 
corrupted,  both  among  things  appropriate  and  contrary 


CHAP,  v^ 


RHETORIC. 


25 


to  the  polity.     But  I  say,  governments  are  corrupted  by 
things  appropriate,  because  all  other  polities  except  that 
which  is  the  best,  are  corrupted  by  remission  and  inten- 
tion.     Thus  for  instance,  a  democracy,  not  only  becomes^ 
more  imbecile  by  remission,  so  as  at  length  to  arrive  at 
an  oligarchy,  but  it  is  also  weakened  by  vehement  inten- 
tion ;  just  as  an  aquiline  and  a  flat  nose,  not  only  arrive 
at  mediocrity  by  remission,  but  likewise   when  they  be- 
come  very  aquiline  or  flat,  cause  the  nose  to  be  so  dis- 
posed, that  it  no  longer  appears  to  be  a  nostril.     It  is 
moreover  useful  for  the  purpose  of  legislation,  not  only 
to  understand  what   is  advantageous  to   a  polity,  by  a 
survey  of  past  events,  but  also  to  know  the  condition  of 
other  polities,  and  what  is  adapted  to  each.     Hence  it  is 
evident  that  travelling  is  useful  for  the  purposes  of  legis- 
lation  ;  since  from  hence  the  laws  of  nations  may  be  ob- 
tained.    But  the  knowledge  of  history  is   requisite  to 
political  counsels.     All  these  particulars,    however,  are 
the  business  of  politics,  and  not  of  rhetoric.    Such,  there- 
fore,   are  the  principal  things  which  he  who  intends  to 
give  counsel  ought  to  possess. 


CHAPTER  V. 


Let  us  again,  however,  enumerate  the  particulars  from 
which  it  is  requisite  to  exhort  or  dissuade,  both  respect- 


26 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  I. 


ing  these,  and  other  things.  But  nearly,  both  privately 
to  each  individual,  and  in  common  to  all  men,  there  is  a 
certain  scope,  to  which  choice  and  aversion  are  directed  j 
and  this  is,  in  short,  felicity,  and  the  parts  of  it.  Hence, 
for  the  sake  of  an  example,  we  shall  assume  what  felicity 
is,  and  from  what  the  parts  of  it  consist.  For  all  exhor- 
tations and  all  dissuasions  are  conversant  with  this,  and 
with  the  things  which  contribute  to  it,  and  the  contraries 
to  this.  For  it  is  necessary  to  perform  such  things  as 
procure  this  felicity,  or  a  certain  part  of  it,  or  which  ren- 
der it  greater  instead  of  less ;  and  not  to  do  those  things 
which  corrupt  or  impede  felicity,  or  produce  its  con- 
traries. 

Let  felicity,  therefore,  be  [defined  to  be}  acting  'well 
in  cmjimction  ivith  virtue  ;  or,  a  life  sufficient  to  itself] 
or,  the  most  pleasant  life  in  conjunction  with  security  ; 
or,  a  prosperous  conditio^i  of  possessions  and  the  body^ 
together  with  a  power  of  preserving  and  effecting  these. 
For  nearly  all  men  acknowledge  that  felicity  is  one,  or 
more  than  one  of  these. 


If,  therefore,  felicity  is  a  thing  of  this  kind,  it  is  neces- 
sary  that  the  parts  of  it  should  be,  nobility  of  birth,  an 
abundance  of  friends,  and  these  such  as  are  worthy  men, 
riches,  a  numerous  progeny,  and  a  good  old  age ;  and 
besides  these,  the  virtues  of  the  body,  such  as  health, 
beauty,  strength,  magnitude,  agonistic  power ;  glory, 
honour,  and  prosperity ;  virtue,  or  also  the  parts  of  it, 
prudence,  fortitude,  justice,  and  temperance.  For  thus  a 
man  will  be  most  sufficient  to  himself,  if  both  internal 
and  external  goods  are  present  with  him  ;  for  there  are 
no  other  goods  besides  these.    But  internal  goods,  in- 


CHAP.  V. 


RHETORIC. 


27 


deed,  are  both  those  which  pertain  to  the  soul,  and  those 
which  pertain  to  the  body  ;  and  external  goods  are,  no^ 
bility  of  birth,  friends,  riches  and  honour  ;  and  besides 
these,  we  think   it   requisite    that  power    and   fortune 
should  be  present.     For  thus  life  will  be  most  secure- 
In  a  similar  manner,  therefore,  we  shall  assume  what 
each  of  these  is.     Nobility  of  birth  then  both  to  a  nation 
and  a  city  is  when  the  people  are  indigenous  or  ancient, 
^nd  their  first  leaders  or  commanders  are  illustrious  men, 
and  when  many  persons  illustrious  in  those  things  which 
are  the  objects  of  emulation  are  the  progeny  of  these. 
But  private  nobility  is  derived  either  from  men,  or  from 
women,  and  a  legitimate  procreation  from  both.     And 
in  this  nobility  as  well  as  in  that  of  a  city,  it  is  requisite 
that  the  first  authors  of  the  race,  should  be  illustrious 
either  in  virtue  or  in  riches,  or  in  sometliing  else  which 
is  honourable,  and  likewise  that  many  illustrious  men  and 
women,  young  and  old,  should  be  the  progeny  of  this 
genus. 

With  respect  to  a  good  and  numerous  oflspring  it  is 
not  immanifest  what  it  is.  But  in  a  community,  a  good 
offspring  is  a  multitude  of  young  and  worthy  children ; 
who  are  worthy,  indeed,  according  to  the  virtue  of  the 
body,  as  for  instance,  in  magnitude,  beauty,  strength, 
and  agonistic  power ;  and  according  to  the  virtue  of  the 
soul,  in  temperance  and  fortitude,  which  are  the  virtues 
of  youth*  Privately,  however,  the  offspring  is  good  and 
numerous,  if  the  proper  children,  both  male  and  female, 
are  many  and  worthy.  But  the  corporeal  virtue  of  fe- 
males is,  beauty  and  magnitude ;  and  the  virtues  of  their 
soul  are,  temperance  and  sedulity  without  illiberality.     It 


28 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  I. 


CHAP.  V. 


RHETORIC. 


29 


IS  requisite,  therefore,  to  investigate  both  privately  and 
publicly  the  existence  of  each  of  these  virtues,  in  men 
and  in  women ;  for  where  these  virtues  are  wanting  in 
the  women,  as  is  the  case  with  the  Lacedaemonians,  such 
women  are  scarcely  half  happy. 

The  parts  of  wealth,  however,  are  money,  a  great 
quantity  of  land,  and  the  possession  of  farms ;  and  be- 
sides these,  furniture,  cattle,  and  slaves  which  are  remark- 
able for  their  multitude,  magnitude  and  beauty.  All 
the^e  possessions,  likewise,  ought  to  be  secure,  free,  and 
useful.  But  those  are  more  useful  which  are  profitable ; 
those  are  free  which  are  subservient  to  enjoyment ;  I  call 
those  profitable  which  yield  a  revenue  ;  and  those  con- 
sist in  enjoyment,  in  which  nothing  is  estimable  besides 
the  use.  But  the  definition  of  security,  indeed,  is  for  a 
man  to  possess  what  he  has  in  such  a  place  and  in  such 
a  manner,  that  the  use  of  it  may  be  in  his  power  ;  and  so 
that  it  may  be  his  own  property  or  not,  when  it  is  in  his 
power  to  alienate  it.  But  I  call  alienation  giving  and 
selling.  In  short,  riches  consist  more  in  use  than  in  pos- 
session. For  the  energy  and  the  use  of  things  of  this 
kind  are  riches. 

Renown  is  to  be  esteemed  by  all  worthy  persons,  or 
it  is  the  possession  of  a  thing  of  such  a  kind  as  is  desired 
by  all  men,  or  which  many,  or  good,  or  wise  men  desire. 

But  honour  is  an  indication  of  beneficent  renown.  And 
those,  indeed,  who  have  benefited  others,  are  justly  and 
especially  honoured ;  though  he  likewise  is  honoured 
who  is  able  to  benefit.  But  beneficence  is  that  which 
either  pertains  to  safety,  and  such  things  as  are  the  causes 


of  existence,  or  to  wealth,  or  to  some  other  of  those 
goods,  the  possession  of  which  is  not  easy  ;  and  this  either 
entirely,  or  in  this  place,  or  at  a  certain  time.     For  many 
persons  obtain  honour  from  things  which  appear  to  be 
small ;  but  the  modes  and  the  occasions  are  the  causes 
of  it.     The  parts  of  honour,  however,  are,  sacrifices, 
eulogies  in  prose  and  verse,  rewards,  sacred  groves,  pre- 
cedency in  sitting,  sepulchres,  statues,  and  public  salaries; 
barbaric  honours,   such   as  adoration   by  inclining  the 
body,  giving  place,  and  gifts  which  are  universally  valued. 
For  a  gift  is  the  donation  of  possession,  and  an  indication 
of  honour.     Hence,  the  ambitious  and  the  avaricious  are 
desirous  of  gifts  ;  since  gifts  contain  in  themselves  what 
each  of  these  require.     For  possession  is  that  which  the 
avaricious  desire,  and  it  is  also  attended  with  honour,  after 
which  the  ambitious  aspire. 

But  the  virtue  of  the  body  is  health,  and  this  in  such  a 
way  as  to  render  those  who  use  the  body,  free  from  dis- 
ease.   For  many  persons  are  healthy,  as  Herodicus  is  said 
to  be ;    and  yet  no  one  will  proclaim  them  to  be  happy 
on   account   of  health,   because  [like  Herodicus]  they 
abstain  from  all  or  the  greater  part  of  human  concerns. 
With  respect  to  beauty  it  is  different  in  every  age.     The 
beauty,  therefore,  of  a  young  man  is  to   have  a  body 
useful  for  the  endurance  of  labour,  viz.  for  the  course, 
and  for  violent  action,  and  which  is  also  pleasing  to  the: 
view.     Hence,  those  that  contend  in  the  five  games  are 
most  beautiful,  because  they  are  naturally  adapted  both 
to  violent  action,  and  celerity.     But  the  beauty  of  him 
who  is  in  the  acme  of  life,  is  to  be  capable  of  warlike 
labours,  and  to  be  terribly  pleasing  to  the  view.     And 
the  beauty  of  an  old  man,  is  to  have  a  body  sufficiently 


so 


THE    ART    or 


BOOK  I. 


GHAP.  V. 


RHETORIC. 


adapted  to  necessary  labours,  but  without  pain,  because  be 
has  none  of  those  diseases  with  which  old  age  is  defiled* 
Strength,  also,  is  the  power  by  which  a  man  moves  an- 
other thing  as  he  pleases ;  and  it  is  necessary  to  move 
another  thing,  either  by  drawing,  or  impelling,  or  lifting, 
or  compressing,  or  crushing ;  so  that  he  who  is  strong  is 
strong  in  all,  or  in  some  of  these*  But  the  virtue  of 
magnitude  is  to  excel  the  multitude  in  length,  depth, 
and  breadth,  so  that  the  motions  of  the  body  may  not 
be  rendered  slower,  by  this  excess  [of  magnitude].  And 
the  agonistic  virtue  of  the  body  is  composed  from  mag* 
nitude,  strength,  and  celerity  ;  for  he  who  is  swift  is 
strong ;  since  he  who  is  able  to  hurl  forth  his  legs  in  a 
certain  respect,  and  to  move  them  with  celerity,  and  to 
a  great  distance,  is  a  racer.  But  he  who  can  grapple  and 
hold  fast,  is  a  wrestler.  He  who  can  drive  another  per- 
son away  by  a  blow,  is  a  pugilist ;  and  he  who  can  do 
both  these,  is  a  pancratiast.  But  he  who  excels  in  all 
these,  is  a  pentathlian,  or  skilled  in  the  five  games^ 

A  good  old  age,  also,  is,  when  age  slowly  approaches 
unattended  with  pain.  For  neither  has  a  man  a  good 
old  age,  if  he  becomes  rapidly  old  ;  nor  if  he  becomes 
old  with  difficulty,  but  attended  with  pain,  A  good  old 
age,  however,  consists  from  the  virtues  of  the  body  and 
from  the  goods  of  fortune.  For  an  old  age  which  is 
neither  free  from  disease  nor  strong,  will  not  be  impas- 
sive to  maladies,  and  will  not  be  unattended  with  pain, 
or  possess  longevity  ;  nor  can  it  be  permanent  without 
[the  goods  of]  fortune.  There  is,  however,  another 
certain  power  of  living  long  separate  from  strength  and 
health.     For  many  live  long  without  the  virtues  of  the 


body ;  but  an  accurate  discussion  of  these  things  is  of 
wse  at  present. 


31 

no 


^  But  what  the  friendship  of  many  and  worthy  pei^ns 
IS,  will  not  be  immanifest  from  the  definition  of  a  friend 
A  friend,  therefore,  is  one  who  performs  those  thin^  for 
the  sake  of  his  friend  which  he  thinks  will  be  beneficial 
to  him ;  and  he  who  has  many  such,  has  many  friends  • 
but  he  with  whom  such  men  are  worthy  persons  ha^ 
worthy  friends. 

Moreover,  prosperity  consists  in  those  goods  of  which 
fortune  is  the  cause  that  either  all,  or  most,  or  the  ^rreat 
est  of  these  befall  us.     But  fortune  is  the  cause  of  ""some 
things,  indeed,  of  which  the  arts  are  the  cause ;  and  like- 
wise  of  many  and  inartificial  things,  as  for  instance,  such 
as  those  of  which  nature  is   the  cause.      Sometimes, 
however,  it  happens  that  these  are  preternatural.     For 
art,  indeed,  is  the  cause  of  health  ;  but  nature  of  beauty 
and  magnitude.     And  in  short,  those  goods  are  from 
fortune  which  are  attended  with  envy.     Fortune,  also,  is 
the  cause  of  those  goods  which  are  contrary  to  'reason  • 
as  when  all  the  rest  of  the  brothers  are  deformed,  aud 
one  alone  is  beautiful ;  or  when  all  the  rest  did  not  see 
the  treasure,  and  one  alone  discovered  it ;    or  when  the 
next  person  happens  to  be  pierced  with  an  arrow,  but  this 
man  escapes  ;   or  when  only  one  person  did  not  come  to 
a  place  where   others  were  accustomed  to  come,  but 
others  who  only  came  to  it  at  that  time  were  destroyed. 
'    For  all  such  circumstances  appear  to  be  the  effect  of  raod 
fortune. 


With  respect  to  virtue,  however,  because  it 


IS  a  topic 


32 


THE    ART    OP 


BOOK  I. 


most  adapted  to  applause,  we  shall  then  discuss  it  wlien 
we  speak  concerning  praise.  And  thus  we  have  shown 
what  ought  to  be  our  aim  in  persuading  or  dissuading 
whether  in  reference  to  things  present  or  future.  For 
persuasion  is  contrary  to  dissuasion. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


Since,  however,  the  profitable  is  the  scope  proposed 
by  him  who  counsels;  but  men  counsel  not  concerning 
the  end,  but  those  things  which  refer  to  the  end ;  and 
these  are  such  as  are  advantageous  to  action ;  but  that 
which  is  advantageous  is  good ; — this  being  the  case, 
the  elements  must  be  assumed  of  the  good  and  the  ad- 
vantageous simply  considered. 

Let  good,  therefore,  be  that  which  is  itself  eligible  for 
its  own  sake ;  and  for  the  sake  of  which  we  chuse  some- 
thing else.  Let  it,  also,  be  that  whigh  all  things  desire, 
or  which  all  things  desire  that  have  sense  or  intellect,  or 
would  desire  if  they  had.  Let  it,  likewise,  be  such  things 
as  intellect  dictates  to  every  one  ;  and  whatever  the  in- 
tellect  of  each  person  dictates  to  each,  this  is  the  good  of 
each.  It  is,  also,  that  which  when  present  causes  its 
possessor  to  be  well  disposed,  and  sufficient  to  himself; 
and  is  self-sufficiency.  It  is,  likewise,  that  which  pro- 
duces or  preserves  things  of  this  kind  ;  to  which  things 
of  this  kind  are  consequent ;    and  which  prevents  the 


CHAP.  n. 


RHETORIC. 


33 

Brr'"'  "fu^"^^  '^^"^^  ''  '''  ^^-^-P^-e  of  these 
But  things  of  this  kind  are  consequent  to  food  in  a  two 
fold  respect;    either  at  once  or  afterwards.     Thus  Z 

but  hf    subsists  at  one  and  the  same  time  with  h'eahV 

some  t  Tr  r""  '^^^  '  ^'^'•^^f^'^  -b-ten  e 
some  indeed,  [m  the  genus  of  the  formal  cause]  as  to  be 

wel    IS  effective  of  health ;  others  [in  the  .enus  of  th 

efficient  cause]   as  food  is  productive  of  ^a  h       ,, 

others  [m  the  genus  of  the  disposing  cause!  JT  ' 

because  this  for  the  most  part  p^od u'ce^^^  ^^"^^^^' 

^  These  things,  therefore,  being  admitted,  it  is  necessarv 

evil  is  af  nn<..  .  ^       '  '"^  non-possession  of 

evil  IS  at  once  consequent  to  the  former:    and  the  do^ 

session  of  good  to  the  latter.     The  assumm ;!n    .  t    ^ 
of  a  greater  instead  of  a  less  Ld    nf    '         "^''' 
lipase  ]  and  of  a  less  instead  7f  !^jrrZ 
by  which  the  greater  surpasses  the  less,  becomes  the  t 
sumption  of  the  one.  and  the  rejection  of  the  oTh  r       t" 
^  hkewise.  necessary  that  the  virtues  should  t  good 
For  those  who  possess  them  are  from  these  well  dispS' 
and  become  effective  of  and  practically  good      wlT. 
spect  to  each  virtue,  howeverf  what  it^and  whi   puT' 
I.  y  Jt  possesses,   we  must  speak  separ  tely.      I    12 
also  be  admitted  that  pleasure  is  good  ■  for  all  L      f 
naturally  aspire  after  if    c^  .u       u-     '  animals 

y  aspire  arter  it ;    so  that  things  which  are  nl^^ 

sant  and  beautiful  are  nece^arll^        j  .     ^ 

r.^^A      ■       r    .  necessarily  good  j    since  these  are 

productive  of  pleasure.     But  of  things  which  are  be^u 
trfui.  some  indeed  are  pleasant;  but' others  ^rth^m 
elves  eligible  by  themselves.     That  we  may.  however" 
speakof  them  sevenlly,  it  is  necessary  that  th';  folrg 


34, 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  I. 


CHAP.  VI. 


things  should  be  good:  felicity;  for  it  is  eligible  for  its  own 
sake,  is  sufficient  to  itself,  and  we  choose  many  thmgsfor . 
the  sake  of  it.     Justice,  likewise,  fortitude,  temperance, 
magnanimity,  magnificence,  and  other  habits  of  this  kind, 
rare  necessarily  good ;]    for  they  are  the  virtues  of  the 
soul.     This  is  also  the  case  with  health,  beauty,  and  the, 
Uke  '•  for  they  are  the  virtues  of  the  body,  and  are  effec- 
tive of  many  thmgs.     Thus,  for  instance  health,  is  effec- 
tive of  pleasure  and  life  ;  on  which  account,  also,  it  ap- 
pears to  be  most  excellent,  because  it  is  the  cause  of  two 
things  which  are  most  honoured  by  the  multitude,  viz. 
pleasure  and  life.     Wealth,  also,  is  good ;    for  it  is  the 
virtue  of  possession,  and  is  effective  of  many  things.     A 
friend,  also,  and  friendship  are  good ;    for  a  fnend  is  a 
thing  eligible  of  itself,  and  is  effective  of  many  thmgs. 
This  is  also  the  case  with  honour  and  glory  ;    for  they 
are  delightful,  produce  many  things,  and  those  things  for 
which  men  are  honoured,  are  for  the  most  part  attend- 
ant upon  them.    The  power,  likewise,  of  speaking  and 
acting  is  good ;  for  all  such  things  are  effective  of  good ; 
and  besides  these,  a  good  disposition,  memory,  an  aptness 
to  learn,   sagacity,  and  every  tiling  of  this  kind ;    for 
these  powers  are  productive  of  good.  In  a  similar  mann«r 
this  is  the  case  with  all  sciences  and  arts.     Life  itselt, 
also,  is  good ;  for  though  it  were  effective  of  no  other 
good,  yet  it  is  eligible  of  itself.     The  just  likewise  is 
good ;  for  it  is  in  common  something  profitable.     And 
these  things  are  in  general  acknowledged  to  be  good. 

With  respect,  however,  to  those  things  which  are 
dubious,  syllogisms  are  thus  framed  to  prove  that  they 
are  good.  That  is  good,  the  contrarry  to  which  is  eyU. 
This  is  likewise  the  case  with  that,  the  contrary  to  which 


RHETORIC. 


35 


IS  advantageous  to  enemies.  Thus,  if  to  be  timid  is 
specially  advantageous  to  enemies,  it  is  evident  that  for- 
Qtude  IS  especially  beneficial  to  citizens.  And  .  short 
the  contrary  to  that  which  enemies  wish,  pr  with  which 
they  are  delighted,  appears  to  be  beneficial.  Hence  it 
was  well  said,  "cnce,  it 

Sure  Priam  will  rejoice.' 

This,  however,  is  not  always,  but  for  the  most  part  true 
For  nothing  hinders  but  that  sometimes  the  same  thinji 
may  be   beneficial  as  well  to  our  adversaries  as  to  ul 
Hence,  it  is  said  that  evils  conciliate  men.  when  the  same 
thing  IS  permcious  to  both.     That,  also,  of  which  there 
IS  no  excess  is  good ;  but  that  which  is  greater  than  it 
ought  to  be  is  evil.     That,  likewise,  is  good,  for  the  sake 
ot  which  many  labours  have  been  endured,  and  much 
wealth  consumed ;  for  this  is  now  an  apparent  good  • 
and  a  thing  of  this  kind  is  considered  as  an  end,  tnd  a^ 
the  end  of  many  things.     But  the  end  is  good.    Hence 
it  IS  said  [by  Juno,'] 

And  fame,  ind«ed,  to  Priam  will  redound. 

And  [by  Ulysses,'] 

Longer  to  stay  is  shameful. 

Whence,  also,  the  proverb,  "  A  water-pot  at  the  door. 


"* 


'  Iliad,  10.  '  Iliad,  2.  I  Iliad,  2. 

*  ™»  ^»;  probably  said  of  those,  who  after  they  had  broucrhta 
vessel  full  of  water  from  a  distant  fountain  home,  suffered  it  to  faU 
from  their  hands  and  to  be  broken  at  the  door  of  the  house 


36 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK    I* 


CHAP.  vr. 


RHETORIC. 


37 


That,  likewise,  is  good  which  is  the  object  of  desire  to 
many  persons,  and  which  appears  to  be  worthy  of  con- 
tention.    For  that  which  all  men  desire  is  good ;  and 
the  many  appear  to  be  as  it  were  all.     That,  also,  is  good 
which  is  laudable  ;  for  no  one  praises  that  which  is  not 
good.     In  a  similar  manner  that  is  good  which  both 
enemies  and  bad  men  praise.     For  it  is  just  as  if  all  men 
acknowledged  it  to  be  good,  if  it  is  acknowledged  to  be 
so  by  those  that  are  badly  affected.     For  because  it  is 
apparent,  it  is  acknowledged  to  be  good ;  just  as  those 
are  bad  men  whom  our  friends  blame-,  and  those  are 
good  men  whom  our  enemies  do  not  blame.    Hence  the 
Corinthians  conceived  themselves  to  be  reviled  by  bi- 
monides,  for  saying, 

«  lUon,  however,  does^  not  Corinth  blame." 

That  likewise  is  good  which   is  preferred  by  some  wise 
person,  or  some  good  man  or  woman.    Thus  Mmerya 
preferred  Ulysses,  Theseus  Helen,  the  goddesses  Pans, 
Ld  Homer  Achilles.     And  in  short,  things  which  are 
the  obiects  of  deliberate  choice  are  good ;  but  men  deli- 
berately choose  to  perform  the  things  we  have  mentioned, 
and  such  as  are  evil  to  enemies,  and  good  to  friends. 
Things  that  are  possible,  also,  are  good ;  but  these  axe 
twofold,  viz.  such  as  may  be  done,  and  such  as  may  be 
easily  done ;  and  those  things  may  be  easily  done,  which 
are  unattended  with  pain,  or  which  maybe  effected  . nil 
short  time.     For  that  which  is  difficult  is  defined  either 
by  pain,   or  by  length  of  time.     Things,  likewise  are 
good  which  are  done   according  to  our  wish ;  but  we 
wish  either  no  evil,,  or  less  evil  than  good.    But  this  will 
take  place,  if  either  punishment  is  latent,  or  small.    Men 
also,  wish  to  possess  good  which  is  their  own  property. 


and  which  no  other  person  possesses.     They,  likewise, 
wish  to  possess  superfluities  ;  for  thus  they  obtain  more 
honour.     And,  also,  things  adapted  to  themselves  ;  but 
things  of  this  kind  are  such  as  are  fit,  both  according  to 
genus  and  power.     Things,  likewise,  which  they  fkncy 
they  are  defective  in,  are  the  objects  of  their  wish,  though 
they  should  be  little  things.     For  they  no  legs  delibe- 
rately chuse  to  perform  these.     Also,  things  which  may 
be  easily  eflfected ;    for  these  are  possible,  as  being  easy. 
But  those  things  are  most  easily  effected  which  all  men, 
or  those  that  are  similar,  or  those  that  are  inferior,  have 
performed  rightly  and  well.     Likewise,  those  things  with 
which  friends  are  gratified,  or  which  are  odious  to  ene- 
mies.     And  such   things  as  those   who  admire  them 
deliberately   chuse  to  do.     Likewise,   those  things  in 
which  men  are  ingenious  and  expert ;  for  they  think  they 
shall  easily  accomplish  them  with  rectitude.    Also,  those 
things  which  no  bad  man  will  undertake  j  for  these  are 
more  laudable.     And  such  things  as  are  the  objects  of 
desire  to  men  ;  for  these  are  not  only  delightful,  but 
they  also  appear  to  be  more  excellent.     Men,  also,  espe- 
cially chuse  to  do  those  things  to  which  they  are  most 
propense.     Thus,  for  instance,  victory  is  the  object  of 
choice  to  the  warrior ;  honour  to  the  ambitious ;  riches 
to  the  covetous ;  and  other   characters  after  the  same 
manner.     Concerning  the  good,  therefore,  and  the  ad- 
vantageous, credibility  may  from  these  things  be  derived. 


<i 


58 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK    !• 


CHAPTER  VII. 


Because,  however,  those  [who  counsel] and  who  ac- 
knowledge [the  subjects  of  their  deliberation]  to  be  pro- 
Stable,    are   frequently   dubious    with    respect    to   that 
which  is  more  profitable,  it  follows  that  we  should  m  the 
next  place  speak  concerning  the  greater  good,  and  the 
more  profitable.     Let,  therefore,  that  which  exceeds  be 
so  much  and  something  more ;  but  let  that  which  is  ex- 
ceeded be  that  which  is  inherent  [in  the  thing  which  ex- 
ceeds.]    And  that  which  is  greater,  indeed,  and  more,  is 
always  referred  to  that  which  is  less  ;  but  the  great  and 
the  small,  and  the  much  and  the  few,  are  referred  to  the 
magnitude  of  many  things.     And  that  which  exceeds, 
indeed,  is  the  great  ;  but  that  which  is  deficient  is  the 
small ;  and  in  a  similar  manner  with  respect  to  the  much 
and  the  few. 

• 

We  call  good,  therefore,  that  which  is  itself  eligible 
for  its  own  sake,  and  not  for  the  sake  of  another  ;  that 
which  all  things  desire  ;  that  which  he  who  has  received 
intellect  and  prudence  would  chuse ;  and  that  which  is 
effective  and  preservative,  or  to  which  things  of  this  Idnd 
are  consequent.  But  that  for  the  sake  of  which  [other 
things  subsistj  is  the  end  ;  and  the  end  is  that  for  the 
sake  of  which  other  things  subsist ;  but  that  is  good  to 
any  individual  which  with  reference  to  him  possesses  these 
[definitions  of  universal  good.]  Hence,  it  is  necessary 
that  more  goods  should  be  a  greater  good  than  one  or  a 


CHAP.  VII. 


RHETORIC. 


39 


few  goods,  when  the  one  good  or  the  few  are  co-enume- 
rated ;  for  they  transcend  ;  but  that  which  is  inherent  is 
exceeded.     If,  also,  that  which  is  greatest  [in  one  genus] 
exceeds  that    which  is  greatest   [in  another,]   the  one 
genus  will  also  exceed  the  other  ;  and  when  one  genus 
exceeds  the  other,  that  which  is  greatest  in  the  one,  will 
also  exceed  that  which  is  greatest  in  the  other.     Thus, 
for  instance,  if  the   greatest   man  is  greater   than  the 
greatest  woman,  then  in  short  men  are  greater  than  wo- 
men ;  and  if  men  are  in  short  greater  than  women,  the 
greatest  man  is  greater  than  the  greatest  woman.     For 
the  excesses  of  the  genera,  and  of  the  greatest  things  in 
the  genera,  subsist  analogously.     When,  also,  this  thing 
is  consequent  to  that,  but  that  is  not  consequent  to  this, 
[the  latter  is  a  greater  good.]     But  one  thing  is  conse- 
quent to  another  either  simultaneously,  or  successively,  or 
pdtentially.     For  the  use  of  the  consequent  is  inherent  in 
the  use  of  the  antecedent ;  and  to  live  is,  indeed,  simul- 
taneously consequent  to  the  being  well,  but  the  latter  is 
not   simultaneously   consequent    to   the    former.     And 
scientific   knowledge   is   posterior  to  discipline.     But  it 
follows  potentially  that  if  a  man  be  a  sacrilegious  person, 
he  may  commit  a  private  theft ;  for  he  who  robs  a  temple 
would  also  steal  private  property.     Of  two  things,  also, 
which  exceed  the  same  third,  that  which  more  exceeds  is 
the  greater ;  for  it  is  necessary  that  it  should  exceed  the 
other  by  that  greater  excess  by  which  it  exceeds  the  thirds 
Those  things,  likewise,  are  greater  which  are  effective  of 
a  greater  good ;  for  by  this  the  efficient  cause  is  greater; 
And  in  a  similar  manner    that  of  which  the   efficient  is 
greater,  is  also  itself  greater.     For  if  that  which  is  salu- 
brious is  more  eligible  than  that  which  is  pleasant,  and  is 
a  greater  good,  health  is  also  a  greater  good  than  plea- 
sure.   That,  likewise,  which  is  more  eligible  of  itself,  is  a 


.40 


THE    ART    OF 


J&OOK    I. 


greater  good  than  that  which  is  not  eligible  of  itself. 
Thus,  for  instance,  strength  is  a  greater  good  than  the 
salubrious ;  for  the  latter  is  not  desirable  for  its  own  sake, 
but  the  former  is,  which  is  the  characteristic  of  good.     If, 
also,  one  thing  is  the  end,  but  the  other  is  not,  [the 
former  is  the  greater  good.J     For  the  latter  subsists  for 
the  sake  of  another,  but  the  former  for  the  sake  of  it- 
:self ;  as,  for  instance,  to  be  exercised  is  for  the  sake  of 
the  good  condition  of  the  body.     That,  likewise,  which 
is  in  a  less  degree  indigent  of  another,  or  of  other  things 
£is  a  greater   good  y\  for  it  is  more  sufficient  to  itself. 
But  that  is  in  a  less  degree  indigent  which  requires  fewer 
things,   or  such  as  are  more   easily  procured.     When, 
likewise,  this  thing  cannot  subsist  without  that,  or  it  is 
not  possible  it  can  be  generated  without  it,  but  that  can 
subsist  without   this,  [then  the  latter  is  a  greater  good 
than   the  former  ;  for  it  is  more  sufficient  to  itself;]  1^- 
cause  that  which  is  not  indigent  of  another  is  more  self- 
sufficient  ;  so  that  it  is  evidently  a  greater  good.     This  is 
also  the  case,    for   the  same  reason,  if  one   thing  is  a 
principle,  but  another  is  not ;  and  if  one  thing  is  a  cause, 
but  another  is  not.     For  without  cause  and  principle  it 
is  impossible  for  a  thing  to  be,  or  to  be  generated.  When, 
likewise,  two   things  are  principles,  that  which  proceeds 
from  the  greater   principle   is  greater  ;  and  also  when 
there  are  two  causes,  that  is  the  greater  which  proceeds 
from  the  greater  cause.     And  vice  versa,  when  there  are 
two  principles,   the    principle   of  the   greater  thing   is 
greater ;  and  when  there  are  two  causes,  the  cause  of 
the  greater  thing  is  greater.     From  what  has  been  said, 
therefore,  it  is  evident   that   in  both  ways  a  thing  may 
appear  to  be  greater.     For  if  this  thing  is    a  principle, 
but  that  is  not,  this  thing  will  appear  to  be  greater  than 
Uiat.     And,  also,  if  this  thing  is  not  a  principle,  [i.  e.  if 


CHAP. -VII. 


RHETORIC. 


it  is  the  end,]  but  that  is  a  principle ;  for  the  end  b 
greater,  and  is  not  a  principle  ;  as  Leodames,  when  he 
accused  Callistratus,  said,  that  he  who  advised  did  a 
greater  injury  than  he  who  performed  the  deed  ;  for  it 
would  not  have  been  done  had  it  not  been  advised.  But, 
again  accusing  Chabrias,  he  said  that  he  who  did  the  deed 
acted  more  unjustly  than  he  who  advised  it ;  for  it 
would  not  have  been  done,  unless  there  had  been  one 
who  did  it.  For  men  give  advice  to  others  for  the  sake 
of  this,  viz.  that  they  may  act.  That  which  is  more  rare, 
also,  [appears  to  be  a  greater  good]  than  that  which  is 
found  in  abundance ;  as  for  instance,  gold  than  iron, 
though  it  is  less  useful.  For  the  possession  of  it  is  greater 
because  it  is  obtained  with  more  difficulty.  After  another 
manner,  however,  the  plentiful  is  a  greater  good  than  the 
rare,  because  the  use  of  it  surpasses  [the  use  of  the  rare.] 
For  that  which  is  frequently,  surpasses  that  which  is 
rarely  found  ;  whence  it  is  said  [by  Pindar,] 

**  Water  is  the  best  of  things.*' 

And,  in  short,  that  which  is  procured  with  more  difficulty 
[is  a  greater  good]  than  that  which  is  procured  with 
facility ;  for  it  is  more  rare.  After  another  manner, 
however,  that  which  is  procured  with  facility  [is  a  greater 
good]  than  that  which  is  procured  with  more  difficulty ; 
for  it  subsists  as  we  wish  it  should.  That,  also,  is  greater, 
the  contrary  to  which  is  greater.  And,  likewise,  that  of 
which  the  privation  is  greater.  Virtue,  likewise,  is  greater 
than  what  is  not  virtue,  and  vice  than  what  is  not  vice ; ' 

■  By  what  is  not  virtue,  and  what  is  not  vice,  Aristotle  means 
the  disposition  to  the  perfect  habit  of  virtue  or  vice ;  such  for  in- 
stance, as  continence  and  incontinence,  which  are  dispositions  to 
Umperance  and  intemperance^  which  are  ends. 


42 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  I. 


for  the  former  are  ends,  but  the  latter  are  not.     Those 
things  also  are  greater,  the  works  of  which  are  more 
beautiful,  or  more  base  ;  and  of  those  things  of  which 
the  virtues  and  the  vices  are  greater,  the  works  also  are 
greater ;  since  such  as  is  the  subsistence  of  causes  and 
principles,  such  also  is  the  subsistence  of  events ;  and 
such  as  is  the  subsistence  of  events,  such  also  is  the  sub- 
sistence of  causes  and  principles.    Those  things,  likewise, 
are  greater,  the  excess  of  which  is  more  eligible  or  more 
beautiful.     Thus,  for  instance,  to  see  accurately  is  more 
eligible  than  to  smell  [accurately] ;  for  the  sight  is  more 
eligible  than  the  smell.     To  be  a  lover  of  friendship, 
also,  is  better  than  to  be  a  lover  of  riches ;  so  that  to  be 
a  lover  of  friends  is  more  beautiful  than  to  be  a  lover  of 
wealth.     And  on  the  contrary,  the  excesses   of  better 
things  are  better ;  and  of  more  beautiful  things  more 
beautiful.     This  is  also  the  case  with  those  things  of 
which  the  desires  are  more  beautiful  or  better.     For  of 
greater  things  there  are  greater  appetitions ;  and  the  de- 
sires of  more  beautiful  and  better  things,  are  for  the  same 
.    reason  better  and  more  beautiful.     Those  things,  like- 
wise, of  which  the  sciences  are  more  beautiful  or  more 
worthy,  are  themselves  more  beautiful  and  more  worthy. 
For  such  as  is  the  subsistence  of  science,  such  also  is  the 
subsistence  of  that  which  is  true.     But  each  science  is 
employed  about  its  proper  subject;  and  for  the  same 
reasons  the  sciences  of  more  worthy  and  more  beautiful 
things  have  an  analogous  subsistence.     That,  likewise, 
which  either  all,  or  many,  or  most  prudent  persons,  or 
the  most  excellent  characters  have  judged  or  do  judge 
to  be  good  or  greater,  necessarily  thus  subsists,  or  sim- 
ply, or  so  far  as  they  judge  according  to  prudence.  T4iis, 
also,  is  common  to  other  things.    For  every  thing  is  such 


CHAP.  VII. 


RHETORIC. 


43 


according  to  substance,  quantity  and  quality,  as  science 
and  prudence  assert  it  to  be.     This  principle,  however, 
we  apply  to  good  ;  for  good  is  defined  to  be  that,  which 
every  thing  that  possesses  prudence  would  chuse.     It  is 
evident,  therefore,  that  that  thing  is  a  greater  good  which 
prudence  says  is  more  good.     That,  likewise,  which  is 
inherent  in  better  things  either  simply,  or  so  far  as  they 
are  better  ps  a  greater  good ;]  as,  for  instance,  fortitude 
than  strength.     This  is  also  the  case  with  that  which  a 
better  man  would  chuse,  either  simply,  or  so  far  as  he 
is  better  ;  such,  for  instance,  as  to  be  injured  rather  than 
to  injure ;  for  this  a  more  just  man  would  chuse.     That 
which  is  more  delightful,   likewise,   [is  a  greater  good] 
than  that  which  is  less  delightful.    For  all  beings  pursue 
pleasure,  and  for  the  sake  of  it  desire  to  be  delighted. 
For  these  are  the  things  by  which  good  and  the  end  are 
defined.    But  the  more  difficult  is  both  that  which  is  less 
painful,  and  that  which  is  for  a  longer  time  pleasant. 
That  which  is  more  beautiful,  also,  [is  a  greater  good] 
than  that  which  is  less  beautiful.     For  the  beautiful  is 
either  the  delightful,  or  that  which  is  of  itself  eligible. 
Such  things,  also,  as  men  wish  to  be  in  a  greater  degree 
causes  to  themselves  or  their  friends,  are  greater  goods. 
This  is  likewise  the  case  with  things  that  endure  for  a 
longer,  than  with  those  that  endure  for  a  shorter  time  ; 
and  with  things  that  are  more  than  with  those  that  are 
less  stable.     For  the  use  of  the  former  exceeds  in  time ; 
but  of  the  latter  in  the  will.     For  we  in  a  greater  degree 
use  that  which  is  stable  according  to  our  will.     Such 
things,  also,  as  follow  from  co-ordinate  and  similar  cases 
[are  greater  goods.]    Thus,  if  an  action  which  is  accom- 
plished with  fortitude,  is  better  and  more  eligible  than 
that  which  is  effected  by  temperance,  fortitude  also  is 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  I. 


more  eligible  than  temperance,  and  to  be  brave  than  to 
be  temperate.  That,  likewise,  which  all  men  chuse  is  a 
greater  good  than  that  which  all  men  do  not  chuse. 
And  that  which  is  chosen  by  many  than  that  which  is 
chosen  by  a  few.  For  good  was  defined  to  be.  that  which 
all  beings  desire  ;  so  that  what  is  more  the  object  of  de- 
sire will  be  a  greater  good.  That,  likewise,  [is  a  greater 
good,]  which  is  admitted  to  be  so  by  those  who  contro- 
vert [what  good  is,  or  which  enemies,  or  judges,  or  the 
ddlful  acknowledge  to  be  so.  For  that  which  enemies 
admit,  is  just  as  if  all  men  admitted,  and  that  which  the 
latter  admit,  is  equivalent  to  what  is  granted  by  men  ex- 
celling in  power  and  knowledge.  And  at  one  time, 
indeed,  that  is  a  greater  good  of  which  all  participate; 
for  it  is  disgraceful  not  to  participate  it ;  but  at  another 
time,  that  of  which  no  one,  or  of  which  a  few  partici- 
pate ;  for  it  is  more  rare.  Things,  likewise,  which  are 
more  laudable  are  greater  goods ;  for  they  are  better. 
And  in  a  similar  manner  those  things  of  which  the 
honours  are  greater ;  for  honour  is  as  it  were  a  certain 
dignity.  This  is  also  the  case  with  those  things  of  which 
the  punishments  are  greater.  And  likewise  with  those 
things  which  are  greater,  than  such  as  are  acknowledged 
or  appear  to  be  great.  The  same  things,  also,  when 
divided  into  parts  appear  to  be  greater  ;  for  the  trans- 
cendency of  many  things  becomes  apparent.  Hence, 
the  poet  says,  that  Meleager  was  persuaded  [by  his  wife] 
to  rise  to  battle  [by  enumerating  the  evils  which  happen 
from  a  captured  city.] 

She  paints  the  horrors  of  a  conquered  town. 

The  heroes  slain,  the  palaces  overthrown. 

The  matrons  ravishM,  the  whole  race  enslavM. ' 


Iliad,  9,  V.  588,  &c.    The  translation  by  Pope. 


CHAP.  VII. 


RHETORIC. 


45 


This  is  also  the  case  with  composition  and  exaggeration, 
as  may  be  seen  in  Epicharmus ;  and  for  the  same  reason 
as  in  division.  For  composition  shows  an  abundant  ex- 
cess, and  appears  to  be  the  principle  and  cause  of  great 
things.  Because,  however,  that  which  is  more  difficult: 
and  rare  is  greater,  occasions,  also,  and  ages,  and  places, 
and  times,  and  powers  produce  great  things.  For  if 
[any  one  performs  a  deed]  beyond  his  power,  and  be-, 
yond  his  age,  and  those  that  resemble  him,  or  if  in  this 
way,  or  in  this  place,  or  at  that  time,  it  will  have  the 
magnitude  of  things  beautiful,  good  and  just,  and  of  the 
contraries  to  these.  Whence,  also,  the  epigram  on  him 
who  conquered  in  the  Olympic  games.  . 

Some  time  ago  so  vulgar  was  my  trade, 
With  a  rough  sack  on  both  my  shoulders  laid. 
From  Argos  to  Tegea  still  I  trudg'd, 
To  sell  my  fish,  till  victor  here  adjudg'd. 

And  Iphicrates    passes    an    encomium  on  himself  by 
saying, 

From  whence  came  these  ? 

That,  likewise,  which  is  spontaneous,  or  springs  from- 
itself,  is  greater  than  that  which  is  adscititious ;  for  it 
is  more  difficult :  whence  also  the  poet  says. 


Self-taught  am  I.  * 

And  also  the  greatest  part  of  a  great  thing.  Thus,  for 
instance,  Pericles  in  a  funeral  oration  says,  "  That  youth 
being  taken  away  from  a  city,  is  just  as  if  spring  were 

*  These  are  the  words  of  Phemius  in  Odyss.  22. 


46 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  I, 


taken  away  from  the  year."     Those  things,  likewise,  are 
greater  which  are  useful  in  a  greater  necessity  ;  such  as 
things  in  old  age  and  disease.     This  is  also  the  case  with 
that  of  two  things  which  is  nearer  to  the  end.     That, 
likewise,  which  is  good  to  a  certain  thing,  is  a  greater 
good  than  that  which  being  good  simply  is  not  good  to 
it.     And  also  the  possible  than  the  impossible.     For  the 
former  is  good  to  a  thing  itself,  but  the  latter  is  not. 
The  goods,  also,  which  are  in  the  end  of  life  [are  greater 
than  others ;]  for  those  things  are  in  a  greater  degree 
ends  which  are  near  to  the  end.    Things,  likewise,  which 
pertain  to  truth  are  a  greater  good  than  things  which 
pertam  to  opinion.     But  the  definition  of  that  which  per- 
tains to  opinion  is  that  which  if  it  were  latent  no  one 
would  chuse.     Whence,  also,  it  would  seem  that  it  is 
more  eligible  to  be  benefited  than  to  benefit ;  for  the 
former  would  be  chosen  though  it  should  be  latent ;  but 
to  benefit  latently  does  not  seem  to  be  a  thing  that  would 
be  chosen.     Those  things,  likewise,  are  greater  goods 
which  we  rather  wish  to  be  than  to  seem  to  be ;  for  they 
pertain  more  to  truth.     Hence,  also,  [the  sophists  ']  say 
that  justice  is  a  small  thing,  because  it  is  more  eligible  to 
seem  to  be  than  to  be  just ;  but  it  is  not  so  with  healths 
That,  also,  is  a  greater  good  which  is  more  useful  for 
many  purposes;  as,  for  instance,  that  which  is  more  use- 
ful  to  life,  to  living  well,  to  pleasure,  and  to  the  perform- 
ance  of  beautiful  actions.      Hence,   riches  and   health 
appear  [to  the  vulgar]  to  be  the  greatest  of  things ;  for 
these  contain  all  the  above-mentioned  particulars.     That 
also  is  a  greater  good  which  is  more  free  from  molesta- 
tion,  and  is  attended  with  pleasure ;  for  in  this  case  there 


'  A»  Thrasymachus  in  the  Republic  of  Plato. 


CHAP.  VIII. 


RHETORIC. 


47 


are  more  goods  than  one;  so  th^t  the  good  is  both 
pleasure  and  a  privation  of  pain.  That,  likewise,  of  two 
things  is  the  greater  good,  which  being  added  to  the  same 
thing  renders  the  whole  a  greater  good.  And  those 
things  which  when  present  are  not  latent,  are  greater 
goods  than  those  which  are  latent ;  for  the  former  tend 
to  truth.  Hence,  to  be  rich  will  be  considered  as  a 
greater  good  than  to  seem  to  be  rich.  That  also  which 
is  lovely  is  a  greater  good ;  and  which  to  some  things, 
indeed,  is  lovely  when  possessed  alone ;  but  to  others 
when  possessed  in  conjunction  with  other  things.  Hence, 
the  punishment  is  not  equal  to  deprive  him  of  an  eye 
who  has  but  one  eye,  and  him  that  has  two  eyes ;  for 
the  former  is  deprived  of  that  which  is  dear  to  him. 
And  thus  we  have  nearly  shown  from  what  forms  it  is 
necessary  to  derive  credibility  in  exhorting  and  dissuad- 
ing* 


it 


CHAPTER  Vm. 


The  greatest,  however,  and  most  powerfuf  of  all 
things,  in  order  to  the  ability  of  persuading  and  coun-. 
selling  well,  is  to  assume  all  polities,  and  the  manners 
and  legal  institutes  of  each,  and  to  distinguish  what  is 
advantageous  to  them.  For  all  men  are  persuaded  by 
that  which  is  advantageous;  and  that  is  advantageous 


48 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  I. 


which  preserves  the  polity.  Farther  still,  the  enuncia- 
tion of  him  who  possesses  the  supreme  power,  possesses 
the  principal  authority.  But  dominion  is  divided  accord- 
ing to  polities.  For  as  many  polities  as  there  are,  so 
many  forms  also  are  there  of  dominion. 

There  are,  however,  four  polities,  a  democracy,  an 
oligarchy,  an  aristocracy,  and  a  monarchy ;  so  that  the 
supreme  power  and  that  which  judges,  will  be  either  a 
part  or  the  whole  of  these.  But  a  democracy,  indeed, 
is  a  polity  in  which  the  magistrates  are  distributed  by 
lot.  An  oligarchy  is  a  polity  [in  which  the  magistracy 
is  distributed  to  the  rich  alone,]  and  therefore  is  distri- 
buted according  to  estates.  An  aristocracy  is  a  polity  in 
which  magistrates  are  chosen  according  to  their  erudi- 
tion; but  by  erudition  I  mean  that  discipline  which  is 
appointed  by  the  law.  For  those  who  persevere  in  legal 
institutes,  govern  in  an  aristocracy.  Hence,  it  is  neces- 
sary that  these  should  appear  to  be  the  best  of  men. 
But  a  monarchy  is,  as  the  name  indicates,  a  polity  in 
which  one  person  has  the  supreme  authority.  And  of 
this  polity,  that  which  is  conducted  according  to  a  cer- 
tain order  is  a  kingdom ;  but  that  which  is  indefinite  is 
a  tyranny. 

It  is  also  requisite  not  to  be  ignorant  of  the  end  of 
each  polity ;  for  those  things  are  chosen  [in  each]  which 
pertain  to  the  end.  And  the  end,  indeed,  of  a  demo- 
cracy is  liberty  ;  of  an  oligarchy  wealth  ;  of  an  aristo- 
cracy, whatever  pertains  to  erudition  and  legal  institutes ; 
and  of  a  tyranny  safe-guard. 

It  IS  evident,   therefore,   that  those  customs,  legal 


CHAP.  VIII. 


RHETORIC. 


49 


institutes,  and  things  advantageous  which  pertain  to  the 
€nd,  must  be  distinguished,  if  the  choice  [of  the  several 
polities]  is  directed  to  this. 

Since,   however,    credibility   is   not    only    produced 
through  a  demonstrative  oration,  but  also  through  that 
which  IS  ethical ;  (for  we  believe  the  speaker  because  he 
appears  to  be  a  person  of  a  certain  description,  viz.  if  he 
appears  to  be  worthy,   or  benevolent,  or  both  these)— 
this  being  the  case,  it  is  requisite  that  we  should  possess 
a  knowledge  of  the  manners  of  each  of  the  polities 
For  it  IS  necessary  that  the  manners  of  each  should  be 
most  persuasive  with  reference  to  each.    But  these  man- 
ners may  be  obtained  through   the  same  things.     For 
manners  become  apparent  from  deliberate  choice  •  but 
dehberate  choice  is  referred  to  the  end.     What  the  par- 
ticulars  therefore  are,  to  which  the  attention  of  those 
who  exhort  should  be  directed,  as  future  or  present  j  and 
from  what  forms  credibility  about  that  which  is  advan- 
tageous must  be  derived ;  and  farther  still,  concerning 
the  manners  and  legal  institutes  of  polities  ;  and  through 
what  things  and  how  we  may  abound  [with  arguments  1 
all  these  have  been  unfolded  by  us  as  much  as  is  suffi. 
cient  to  the  present  purpose.     For  these  particulars  will 
be  accurately  discussed  in  the  Politics. 


Arist. 


VOL.  I. 


50 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  I. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


After  these  things  let  us  speak  concerning  virtue  and 
vice,  and  the  beautiful  in  conduct  and  the  base ;  for  to 
these  the  intention  of  those  who  praise  and  blame  is 
directed.  For  it  will  happen  that  at  the  same  time  we 
speak  about  these,  those  things  also  will  become  manifest 
from  which  our  moral  character  is  formed,  which  is  the 
second  thing  that  produces  credibility.  For  we  may  be 
able  to  gain  the  credit  of  being  virtuous  ourselves,  and 
cause  another  person  to  do  the  same,  from  the  same 
things.  Since,  however,  it  frequently  happens  that  with- 
out being  serious,  and  also  seriously,  we  praise  not  only 
man  or  God,  but  also  inanimate  things,  and  any  animal 
that  may  occur  ; — this  being  the  case,  propositions  also 
respecting  these  must  be  assumed  after  the  same  manner; 
so  that  we  must  also  speak  concerning  these,  so  far  as  is 
requisite  for  the  sake  of  example. 

The  beautiful  in  conduct,  therefore,  is  that  which 
being  eligible  of  itself  is  laudable ;  or  which  being  good 
is  delightful  because  it  is  good.  But  if  the  beautiful  in 
conduct  is  this,  it  is  necessary  that  virtue  should  be  beau- 
tiful ;  for  being  good  it  is  laudable.  Virtue,  however, 
is  indeed  a  power,  as  it  appears  of  imparting  and  pre- 
serving good :  and  a  power  of  procuring  many  and  great 


CHAP.  IX. 


RHETORIC. 


51 


benefits,  and  of  imparting  all  things  about  all.     But  the 
parts  of  virtue  are,  justice,  fortitude,  temperance,  mag- 
nificence,  magnanimity,    liberality,   mildness,   prudence, 
wisdom.     It  is  however  necessary,  that  those  virtues 
should  be  the  greatest  which  are  most  useful  to  others, 
since  virtue  is  a   beneficent  power.     Hence,  just  and 
brave  men  are  especially  honoured;  for  fortitude  is  useful 
m  war,  and  justice  in  peace.     The  next  to  these  is  libe- 
rahty.     For  the  liberal  freely  bestow  their  property,  and 
do  not  contend  about  money,  of  which  others  are  so 
eminently  desirous.      But  justice,   indeed,    is  a   virtue 
through  which  every  one  legally  possesses  what  is  his 
own  ;  and  injustice  is  that  through  which  a  man  pos- 
sesses the  property  of  others,  contrary  to  law.    Fortitude  ' 
is  that  virtue   through   which  men   perform  beautiful 
deeds  in  dangerous  circumstances,  in  such  a  manner  as 
the  law  commands,  and  those  who  possess  this  virtue  are 
subservient  to  the  law  ;   but  timidity  is  the  contrary  to 
this.     Temperance  is  a  virtue  through  which  men  are 
disposed  towards  pleasures  in  such  a  way  as  the  law  com- 
mands  ;  but  intemperance  is  the  contrary.     Liberality  is 
the  beneficent  use  of  money  ;  but  illiberality  is  the  con- 
trary.     Magnanimity  is  a   virtue  which  is  effective  of 
great  benefits  ;  but  pusillanimity  is  the  contrary.     Mag- 
nificence  is  a  virtue  effective  of  magnitude  in  expense  ; 
but  pusillanimity  and  indecorous  parsimony  are  the  con- 
trary.    Prudence  is  the  virtue  of  the  reasoning  power, 
according  to  which  it  is  possible  to  give  good  counsel 
respecting  the  above-mentioned  good  and  evil  pertaining 
to  felicity.     And  thus  we  have  spoken  sufficiently  at  pre- 
sent of  virtue  and  vice,  and  the  parts  of  them. 

With  respect  to  other  things,  however,  it  is  not  difE- 


32 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  J. 


CHAP.  IX. 


RHETORIC. 


53 


cult  to  see  [which  among  them  are  beautiful  or  base*] 
For  it  is  evident  that  such  things  as  are  eflfective  of  virtue 
must   necessarily  be  beautiful ;    since   they   pertain   to 
virtue  ;  and  also  those  things  which  proceed  from  virtue. 
But  things  of  this  kind  are  the  indications  and  works  of 
virtue.     Since,  however,  the  indications,  and  such  things 
as  are  the  works  or  passions'  of  virtue,  are  beautiful,  it 
is  necessary  that  such  things  as  are  the  works  of  fortf- 
tude,  or  are  indications  of  it,  or  are  bravely  accomplished 
should  be  beautiful.     This  must  also  be  the  case  with 
just  things,  and  with  works  which  are  justly  performed ; 
but  not  with  the  passions  of  them.     For  in  this  alone  of 
the  virtues,  that  which  is  justly  done  is  not  always  beau- 
tiful;   but  in  being   punished,  it  is  more  base  to  be 
punished  justly,  than  to  be  punished  unjustly.     And  in 
a   similar  manner   with   respect   to   the  other   virtues. 
Those  things,  also  of  which  the  reward  is  honour  are 
beautiful;  and  likewise  those  things  of  which  honour 
more  than   riches  is   the  reward.      And  such  eligible 
things  as  a  man  performs  not  for  his  own  sake.     Like- 
wise  such  things  as  are  simply  good,  such  as  what  a  man 
performs  for  his  country,  neglecting  his  own  interest. 
Also  things  which  are  naturally  good  ;  and  such  things 
as  are  good,  but  not  to   their  possessor.     For  things 
which  are  good  to  their  possessor,  are  performed  for  his 
sake  [alone.]     This  is  likewise  the  case  with  such  things 
as  are  more  present  with  the  dead  than  with  the  living. 
For  those  things  which  are  present  with  a  man  when 
living,  have  in  a  greater  degree  a  subsistence  for  his  sake. 

'  By  the  passions  of  virtue,  Aristotle  means  the  effects  resulting 
from  the  exercise  of  them,  on  others.  Thus  the  effect  resulting 
from  the  exercise  of  justice  on  another  person,  is  the  passion  of 
justice. 


And  also  with  such  works  as  are  performed  for  the  sake 
of  other  things  ;  for  they  have  less  of  a  subsistence  for 
the  sake  of  him  who  performs  them.  This  likewise, 
is  the  case  with  such  deeds  as  are  well  performed  wath 
respect  to  others,  and  not  with  respect  to  him  who 
performs  them,  and  also  with  respect  to  benefactors; 
for  this  is  just.  The  like  may  be  said  of  benefits  [con- 
ferred on  others  j]  for  they  are  not  attended  with  pri- 
vate advantage.  This  is  also  the  case  with  the  contra- 
ries  to  those  things  of  which  we  are  ashamed.  For  those 
who  say  or  do,  or  are  about  to  commit  base  actions 
^e  ashamed,  as  in  the  verses  of  Sappho  when  Alcceus 
said  to  her, 

Something  I  wish  to  say,  but  shame  prevents. 

Sappho  replied. 


4 


If  good  and  upright  actions  you  desire. 
And  your  tongue  meditates  no  ill  to  speak. 
Your  eyes  will  never  be  suffusM  with  shame. 
But  freely  you  will  wlrat  is  just  reveal. 

This  IS  likewise  the  case  with  things  about  which  men 
fearlessly  contend  ;  for  men  are  affected  in  this  manner 
about  things  which  tend  to  glory.  The  virtues,  also, 
and  the  works  of  things  which  are  naturally  more  worthy, 
are  beautiful ;  as,  for  instance,  the  virtues  and  works  of 
man  than  those  of  woman.  This  is  likewise  the  case 
with  those  things  which  procure  more  pleasure  to  others 
than  to  their  possessor  ;  on  which  account  the  just  and 
justice  are  beautiful.  It  is  also  beautiful  to  take  ven- 
geance  on  enemies  rather  than  to  be  reconciled  to  them. 
For  retribution  is  just ;  but  the  just  is  beautiful ;  and  it  is 
the  province  of  a  brave  man  not  to  be  vancjuished.     Vi^* 


54 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK    I* 


tory,  likewise^  and  honour  are  among  the  number  of 
things  beautiful ;  for  they  are  eligible  though  they  should 
be  unattended  with  advantage,  and  they  evince  the  trans- 
cendency of  virtue.  Public  celebrations,  also,  of  the 
memory  of  any  one  are  beautiful ;  and  the  greater  they 
are  the  more  beautiful.  This  is  likewise  the  case  with 
commemorations  of  the  dead ;  and  also  with  those  things 
which  are  attended  with  honour.  Things  too  which 
possess  a  certain  excellence,  and  belong  to  one  person 
alone  are  more  beautiful ;  for  they  are  more  worthy  of 
being  remembered.  This  is  likewise  the  case  with  pos- 
sessions that  are  unfruitful  ;  for  they  are  more  liberal. 
Things,  also,  which  are  the  peculiar  property  of  indi- 
viduals are  more  beautiful ;  and  likewise  such  things  as 
are  indications  of  what  is  laudable  among  those  with 
whom  we  inhabit.  Thus  for  instance,  in  Lacedasmon  it 
is  beautiful  to  wear  long  hair  ;  for  it  is  a  sign  of  liberty. 
For  it  is  not  easy  for  him  who  wears  long  hair  to  do  any 
servile  work.*  It  is  also  beautiful  not  to  exercise  any 
illiberal  art ;  for  it  is  the  province  of  a  freeman  not  to 
live  subservient  to  another  person. 

Things  also  which  are  allied  to  the  beautiful  are  to  be 
assumed,^  as  being  the  same  with  them,  both  with  re- 
spect to  praise  and  b!ame  ;  as  if,  for  instance,  we  should 
call  a  cautious  and  animated  person,  timid  and  insidious ; 
a  stupid,  a  good  man  ;  and  one  who  is  insensible  in  the 


*    Because  his  long  hair  would  be  an  impediment  to  servile 

offices. 

•f  For  the  purpose  of  praising  and  blaming,  we  may  not  only  use 
propositions,  in  which  it  is  shown  that  sometliing  is  truly  beautiful 
or  base,  but  also  other  places  which  have  the  power  of  causing  a 
certain  appearance  of  beautiful  or  base  conduct. 


CHAP.  IX. 


RHETORIC. 


55 


endurance  of  injuries,  a  mild  man.  And  after  this 
manner  we  should  always  proceed  from  things  which  are 
consequent  to  that  which  is  best ;  so  as  to  call  him  who 
IS  wrathful  and  furious,  simple ;  and  him  who  is  arrogant, 
magnificent  and  venerable.  We  may  also  praise  those 
who  err  through  excess,  as  if  they  were  virtuous.  Thus, 
for  instance,  we  may  call  an  audacious,  a  brave  man ; 
and  a  prodigal,  a  liberal  man.  For  they  will  appear  to 
be  so  to  the  multitude ;  and  at  the  same  time  a  para- 
logism will  be  made  from  cause.  For  if  any  one  is  pre- 
pared to  encounter  danger  when  there  is  no  necessity  for 
it,  he  will  much  more  seem  to  be  so  prepared  where  it  is 
beautiful  to  encounter  it.  And  he  who  is  profuse  to 
any  casual  persons,  will  appear  to  be  much  more  so  lo 
his  friends  ;  for  to  benefit  all  men  is  the  excess  of  virtue. 
It  is  likewise  requisite  to  consider  by  whom  any  one  is 
praised ;  for  as  Socrates  said,  it  is  not  difficult  to  praise 
the  Athenians  among  the  Athenians.  It  is  necessary, 
however,  to  speak  of  that  which  is  honourable  among 
the  several  nations,  as  of  a  thing  which  actually  exists  ; 
as  for  instance,  among  the  Scythians  or  Laceds!:monians, 
or  the  philosophers.  And  in  short  it  is  requisite  to  refer 
that  which  is  honourable  to  the  beautiful  in  conduct ; 
since  it  appears  to  approximate  to  it.  This  is  also  the 
case  with  such  things  as  subsist  according  to  fitness ;  as 
if  the  deeds  of  a  man  are  worthy  of  his  ancestors,  and 
of  the  deeds  which  he  has  already  performed.  For  to 
make  an  addition  to  the  honour  already  acquired,  con- 
tributes to  felicity,  and  is  beautiful.  This  likewise  will 
•be  the  case,  if  besides  what  is  becoming,  a  man  conducts 
^limself  with  a  view  to  what  is  better  aijd  more  beau- 
tiful ;  as  if  being  prosperous  he  is  indeed  moderate  ;  but 
in  adversity,  he  is  magnanimous  j  or  is  better  and  more 


66 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  I. 


affable,  the  more  dignified  his  situation  in  life  becomes^ 
And  a  thing  of  this  kind  is  that  saying  of  Iphicrates, 

Some  time  ago  so  vulgar  was  my  trade, 
With  a  rough  sack  on  both  my  shoulders  laid. 

And  also  that  [inscription]  of  Simonides,  « A  woman 
whose  father  and  husband  were  the  brothers  of  tyrants." 

But  since  praise  is  derived  from  actions  ;  and  the  pe- 
culiarity of  a  worthy  man  is  to  act  from  deliberate 
choice,  we  must  endeavour  to  show  that  he  who  acts, 
acts  from  deliberate  choice.     And  for  this  purpose  it  is 
useful  to  render  it  apparent  that  a  man  has  frequently 
thus  acted.     Hence,  also,  casualties,  and  events  which 
result  from  fortune,  must  be  assumed  as  pertaining  to 
deliberate  choice.     For  if  many  and  similar  things  are 
adduced,  it  appears  to  be  an  indication  of  virtue  and 
deliberate  choice.     But  praise  is  an  oration  exhibiting 
the  magnitude  of  virtue.     It  is  necessary,  therefore,  to 
evince  that  actions  are  things  of  this  kind  [viz.  that  they 
proceed  from  great  virtue.]     An  encomium,  however, 
pertains  to  deeds  ;  but  those  things  which  surround  him 
who  is  praised,  pertain  to  credibility  j  such  as  nobiUty 
and  education.     For  it  is  likely  that  a  good  man  will  be 
the  offspring  of  good  parents,  and  that  he  who  is  thus 
educated  will  be  a  man  of  this  kind.     Hence,  we  cele- 
brate  those  who  act  well ;   but  deeds  are  the  indications 
of  habit ;  since  we  also  praise  him  that  has  not  acted,  if 
we  believe  him  to  be  a  man  of  this  kind.     The  predi- 
cation, however,  of  beatitude  and  felicity,  do  not  differ 
from  each  other,   but  they  are  not  the  same  with  praise 
and  encomium  ;  but  as  felicity  comprehends  virtue,  so 
the  predication  of  felicity  comprehends  these. 


CHAP.  IX. 


RHETORIC. 


57 


Praise,  however,  and  counsel  have  a  common  form. 
For  those  things  which  you  may  propound  in  giving 
counsel,  these  by  transposing  the  diction  will  btcome 
encomiums.     When  therefore  we  know  what  we  have 
to  do,  and  what  kind  of  a  person  a  man  ought  to  be, 
then  it  is  necessary  adducing  these  as  precepts  to  trans- 
pose  and  convert  the  diction ;  such  for  instance,  as  that 
it  is  not  proper  a  man  should  conceive  magnificently  of 
himself  on  account  of  the  gifts  of  fortune,   but  on  ac- 
count of  those  things  which  he  possesses  from  himself. 
And  thus  indeed  what  is  said,  will  have  the  force  of  a 
precept.    But  the  following  will  have  the  force  of  praise. 
He  conceived  magnificently  of  himself,  not  on  account 
of  the  gifts  of  fortune,  but  of  those  procured  by  himself. 
Hence,  when  you  praise  see  what  it  is  that  you  propound, 
and  when  you  propound,  see  what  it  is  you  praise.    The 
diction,  however,  will  necessarily  be  opposite,  when  that 
which  impedes,  and  that  which  does  not  impede  are 
transposed. 

Frequently,  also,  many  of  those  things  may  be  used, 
which  have  an  amplifying  power ;  as  whether  a  man 
acted  alone,  or  first,  or  with  a  few,  or  whether  he  were 
the  principal  person  in  the  action.  For  all  these  are 
beautiful.  Praise  likewise  is  increased  from  the  consi- 
deration of  times  and  seasons.  For  these  have  nothmg 
in  addition  to  what  is  fit.  This  is  also  the  case  with  the 
consideration  if  a  man  has  done  a  thing  rightly ;  for  this 
will  be  considered  as  a  great  thing,  and  not  originating 
from  fortune,  but  from  himself.  It  likewise  pertains  to 
praise,  if  those  things  which  excite  men  [to  virtue]  and 
cause  them  to  be  honoured,  were  invented  and  prepared 
by  him  [whom  we  praise  5]  and  upon  whom  the  first 


58 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  U 


\ 

V 


CHAP.  X. 


RHETORIC. 


59 


encomium  was  made.   Thus,  for  instance,  it  happened  to 
Hippolochus  to  have  the  jfirst  encomium,  and  to  Har- 
modius,  and  to  Aristogiton  to  have  their  statues  placed  '" 
in  the  forum.     The  like  method  also  must  be  observed 
in  amplifying  the  contrary  to  praise.     When,  likewise, 
you  do  not  find  in  him  whom  you  praise  an  abundance 
of  things  worthy  of  applause,  compare  him  with  others, 
which  Isocrates  did  from  his  custom  of  writing  decla- 
matory orations.     But  it  is  requisite  to  compare  him 
whom  you  praise  with  renowned  men  ;   for  the  oration 
has  an  amplifying  power  and  is  beautiful,  if  he  is  found 
to  be  better  than  worthy  men.     Amplification,  however, 
deservedly  falls  upon  praise  ;  for  it  consists  in  transcen- 
dency ;    and  transcendency  is   among   the   number  of 
things  beautiful.     Hence,  if  you  cannot  compare  him 
with  renowned  persons,  yet  it  is  requisite  to  compare  him 
with  others,   [that  are  not  renowned,]  since  transcen- 
dency seems  to  indicate  virtue.     In  short,  of  those  forms 
which  are  common  to  all  orations,  amplification,  indeed,  is 
most  adapted  to  the  demonstrative  genus.     For  it  assumes 
actions  which  are  acknowledged,  so  that  it  only  remains 
to  add  to  them  magnitude  and  beauty.     But  examples 
are  most   adapted   to  the    deliberative  genus,   or    that 
which  consists  in  giving  counsel.     For  we  form  a  judg- 
ment by  predicting  future  from  past  events.     And  en- 
th}  memes  are  most  adapted  to  the  judicial  genus.     For 
the  fact  [which  is  the  subject  of  judicial  discussion,] 
especially  receives  cause  and  demonstration,  on  account 
of  its  obscurity.     And  thus  we  have  shown  from  what 
forms  nearly  all  praise  and  blame  are  derived,  to  what 
we  ought  to  look  in  praising  and  blaming,  and  from 
what  particulars  encomiums  and  opprobriums  are  pro- 
duced.    For  these  things  being  known,  the  contraries  to 


these  are  apparent ;  since  blame  consists  from  the  con- 
traries [to  praise  and  encomium.] 


CHAPTER  X. 

In  the  next  place  we  must  speak  of  accusation  and 
defence,  from  how  many  and  from  what  kind  [of  places] 
it  is  necessary  syllogisms  should  be  made.  It  is  neces- 
sary, therefore,  to  assume  three  things;  one,  indeed, 
what  the  particulars  are,  and  how  many  in  number,  for 
the  sake  of  which  men  injure  others.  The  second  is, 
how  they  are  effected.  And  the  third  is,  what  kind  of 
persons,  and  in  what  condition  they  are  [whom  they 
attack.] 

When  we  have  therefore  defined  what  it  is  to  do  an 
injury,  we  shall  speak  of  what  is  next  in  order.     Let 
then  to  do  an  injury  be,  to  hurt  another  person  volunta- 
rily contrary  to  law.     But  law  is  either  peculiar  or  com- 
mon.    And  I  call  that  pecaliar,    indeed,  according   to 
which  when  committed  to  writing,  men  act  politically. 
But  common  law  is  such  institutes,  as  though  not  com- 
mitted  to  writing  appear  to  be  acknowledged  by  all  men. 
Men  also  act  willingly  when  they  act  knowingly,  and 
without  compulsion.      With   respect   to    such    things, 
therefore,  as  they  do  willingly,  all  these  are  not  per- 


60 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  I. 


formed  by  them  with  deliberate  choice;  but  all  such 
things  as  they  perform  with  deliberate  choice,  they  do 
knowingly.  For  no  one  is  ignorant  of  that  which  he 
deliberately  chuses  to  do.  The  causes,  however,  through 
which  men  deliberately  chuse  ta  injure  others,  and  to  do 
evil  contrary  to  law,  are  vice  and  intemperance.  For  if 
certain  persons  have  depravity  either  in  one,  or  in  many 
things,  with  respect  to  that  in  which  they  are  depraved 
they  are  also  unjust.  Thus  for  instance,  the  illiberal 
man  is  unjust  in  money ;  the  intemperate  man  in  the 
pleasures  of  the  body  ;  the  effeminate  man  in  sloth  ;  but 
the  timid  man  in  dangers.  For  timid  men  through  fear 
desert  those  that  are  in  the  same  danger  with  themselves/ 
But  the  ambitious  man  is  unjust  on  account  of  honour ; 
the  hasty  man  from  anger;  he  who  aspires  after  con- 
quest, from  victory ;  the  severe  man  through  revenge ; 
the  imprudent  man,  because  he  is  deceived  about  the  just 
and  the  unjust ;  and  the  impudent  man,  through  a  con- 
tempt of  renown.  In  a  similar  manner  with  respect  to 
the  rest,  each  is  unjust  in  that  which  is  the  subject  of  his 
passion.  These  things,  however,  are  evident  partly  from 
what  has  been  said  about  the  virtues,  and  partly  from' 
what  will  be  said  about  the  passions. 

.  It  now  remains  to  show  for  what  reason,  and  in  what 
condition  men  injure  others,  and  whom  they  injure.  In 
the  first  place,  therefore,  let  us  explain  what  we  desire, 
and  what  we  avoid,  when  we  endeavour  to  do  an  injury. 
For  it  is  evident  that  the  accuser  must  consider  how 
many  and  which  of  those  things,  which  all  men  coveting 
injure  their  neighbours,  are  present  with  his  adversary ; 
and  how  many  and  which  of  these  things  are  not  present 
with  the  defendant.     All  men,  therefore,  do  all  things 


CHAP.  X. 


RHETORIC. 


61 


partly  on  account  of  themselves,  and  partly  not.     And 
of  those  things  which  they  do  on  account  of  themselves, 
some  are  performed  by  them  from  fortune,   but  others 
from  necessity.     And  of  those  which  are  performed  by 
them   from  necessity,   some  are  violently,    and   others 
naturally  effected ;  so  that  all  such  things  as  men  do, 
not  on  account  of  themselves,  are  partly  from  fortune' 
partly  from  nature,  and  partly  from  violence.     But  such 
things  as  they  perform  on  account  of  themselves,  and  of 
which  they  themselves  are  the  causes,  are  partly  from 
custom,  and  partly  from  appetite ;  and  some  indeed  are 
from  a  rational,  but  others  from  an  irrational  appetite. 
But  the  will,  indeed,  is  an  appetite  of  good  in  conjunction 
with  reason ;  for  no  one  wishes  any  thing  else  than  that 
M  hich  he  conceives  to  be  good.      But  the  irrational  ap- 
petites  are  anger  and  desire ;  so  that  a!l  such  things  as 
men  do,  are  necessarily  performed  by  them  from  seven 
causes,  viz.  from  fortune,  force,  nature,  custom,  reason, 
anger   and   desire.     The   division,   however,  of  actions 
according  to  ages,  or  habits,  or  certain  other  things,  is 
superfluous.     For  if  it  happens  that  young  men  are  cho- 
leric, or  prone  to  indulge  desire,  they  do  not  perform 
things  of  this  kind  on  account  of  their  juvenile  age,  but 
on  account  of  anger  and  desire.     Nor  yet  on  account  of 
riches  and  poverty ;  but  it  happens  to  the  poor  indeed, 
to  covet  riches  on  account  of  their  indigence ;  and  to  the 
rich  to  desire  pleasures  that  are  not  necessary,  through 
the  power  which  they  have  of  gratifying  their  desires. 
These,  however,  do  not  act  on  account  of  riches  and 
poverty,  but  on  account  of  desire.     In  a  similar  manner, 
also,  the   just  and  the  unjust,  and  others  who  are  said  to 
act  according  to  habits,  do  all  things  from  these  causes. 
For  they  act,  either  from  reason,  or  from  passion.     Bttt 


62 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  I. 


€ome,  indeed,  act  from  manners  and  worthy  affections ; 
and  others  from  the  contraries  to  these.     It  happens, 
however,  that  things  of  this  kind  are  consequent  to  such 
like  habits,  and  such  and  such  to  others.     For  imme- 
diately, perhaps,  worthy  opinions  and  desires  concerning 
pleasures,   are   consequent   to  the   temperate   man,   on 
account  of  his  temperance  ;  but  the  contraries  to  these 
are  consequent  to  the  intemperate  man.    ,Hence,  divi- 
sions  of  this  kind  must  be  omitted  ;  but  it  must  be  consi- 
dered  what  [desires  or  opinions]  are  usually  consequent 
[to  certain  conditions.]     For  whether  a  man  be  white  or 
black,  or  great  or  little,  nothing  follows  of  things  of  this 
kmd.     But  it  is  of  consequence,  whether  he  is  young  or 
old,  just  or  unjust.     And  in  short,  such  accidents  as 
cause  a  difference  in  the  manners  of  men,  are  of  conse- 
quence  [as  to  the  difference  of  their  desires.]     Thus,  for 
instance,  it  makes  a  distinction,  whether  a  man  be  rich  or 
poor,  fortunate   or   unfortunate.      We  shall,  however, 
speak  of  these  things  hereafter. 

But  now  let  us  speak  of  the  rest.     Those  things  then 
proceed  from  fortune  of  which   the  cause  is  indefinite, 
and  which  are  not  produced  for  the  sake  of  any  thing  ; 
and  which  have  neither  a  perpetual,  nor  a  frequent,  nor 
an  orderly  subsistence.      This,  however,  is  evident  from 
the  definition  of  fortune.     But  those  things  are  produced 
by  nature,  of  which  the  cause  is  in  themselves  and  is 
orderly.     For  they  happen  after  the  same  manner,  either  ' 
always,  or  for  the  most  part.      For  with  respect  to  pre- 
ternatural  things,  it  is  not  necessary  to   consider  accu- 
rately  whether  they  are  produced  from  a  certain  nature, 
or  from  some  other  cause.     Fortune,  also,  may  seem  to 
be  the  cause  of  such  like  things.     But  those  things  are 


CHAP.   X. 


RHETORIC. 


GS 


effected  by  force,  which  are  done  by  the  agents  them- 
selves contrary  to  their  desire  or  reason.      Those  things 
are  effected  by  custom,  which  are  done  in  consequence 
of  having  been  frequently  done.     And  those  things  are 
effected  through  reasoning,  which  are  done  with  a  view 
to   advantage,  as  ranking  among  the  above-mentioned 
goods,  or  as  being  an  end,  or  as  referring  to  the  end, 
when  they  are  performed  on  account  of  utility.     For  the 
intemperate,  also,  perforin  some  things  that  are  advan- 
tageous, yet  not  because  they  are  advantageous,  but  for 
the  sake  of  pleasure.     And  some  men  through   anger 
and  rage   perform    things    which    pertain   to   revenge. 
Revenge,  however,  and  punishment  differ.     For  punish- 
ment is  inflicted  for  the  sake  of  him  that  suffers ;  but 
revenge  is  for  the  sake  of  the  agent,  that  he  may  satisfy 
[his  desire  of  vengeance.]      In  what  we  shall  hereafter 
say,  therefore,  about  the  passions,  it  will  be  evident  what 
the  objects  are  with  which  anger  is  conversant.     Such 
things,  however,  as  appear  to  be  pleasant  are  performed 
on  account  of  desire.     But  both  that  which  is  done  from 
use,  and  that  which  is  done  from  custom,  are  delightful. 
For  many  things  which  are  not  naturally  pleasant,  when 
rendered  familiar  through  custom,  are  done  with  delight. 
Hence,  in  short,  all  such  things  as  men  do  on  account  of 
themselves,  are   either  good,   or  apparently  good,  are 
either  pkasing,.  or  apparently  pleasing. 

Shice,  however,  such  things  as  men  perform  on  ac- 
count of  themselves,  they  perform  willingly,  but  such 
things  as  they  do  not  perform  on  account  of  themselves, 
are  done  by  them  not  willingly ; — hence,  all  such  things 
as  they  perform  willingly,  will  either  be  good  or  appa- 
r^tly  goodj  will  either  be  pleasant  or  apparently  plea^ 


64 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  I. 


sant.  For  I  consider  the  liberation  from  evils,  or  from 
apparent  evils,  or  the  assumption  of  a  less  instead  of 
a  greater  evil,  in  the  number  of  good  things.  For  in  a 
certain  respect  these  are  eligible.  And  in  a  similar  man- 
ner  the  liberation  from  things  painful,  or  apparently- 
painful,  or  the  assumption  of  less  instead  of  more  pain- 
ful things,  rank  among  things  which  are  pleasant. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


WiL  must  assume,  therefore,  how  many  and  what 
things  are  useful  and  pleasant.  Concerning  what  is 
useful,  therefore,  or  advantageous,  we  have  already 
spoken  in  the  discussion  of  things  pertaining  to  counsel. 

Let  us,  therefore,  now  speak  of  what  is  delightful. 
But  it  is  requisite  to  think  that  [rhetorical]  definitions 
are  sufficient,  if,  about  the  object  which  they  define,  they 
are  neither  obscure,  nor  inaccurate.  Let  it  therefore  be 
^  supposed  by  us,  that  pleasure  is  a  certain  motion  of  the 
soul,  and  a  sudden  and  sensible  disposition  of  the  soul  in 
a  state  conformable  to  nature ;  but  that  pain  is  the  con^ 
trary.  Hence,  if  pleasure  is  a  thing  of  this  kind,  it  is 
evident  that  the  pleasant  is  that  which  is  effective  of  the 
above-mentioned   disposition.      But  that  which  is  cor- 


CHAP.  xr. 


RHETORIC. 


65 


ruptive,    or   is   effective    of   a   contrary   disposition,   is 
painful. 

It  necessarily  follows,  therefore,  that  it  is  pleasant  to 
accede  to  that  which  is  according  to  nature,  as  being  that 
which   has  a  frequency  of  subsistence,    and  especially 
when  those  things  which  take  place  according  to  nature, 
have  assumed  their  own  nature.     Those  things  also  are 
pleasant   which   are   done  from   custom.      For  that  to 
which  we  are  accustomed  becomes  now  as  it  were  natu- 
ral ;  since  custom  is  something  similar  to  nature.     For 
that  which  is  Jreqtwntltj  is  near  to  that  which  is  alxvays 
done.     But  nature  pertains  to  that  which  always,  and 
custom  to  that  which  frequently  takes  place.     That  like- 
wise is  pleasant  which  is  not  violent ;  for  violence  is  pre- 
ternatural.     Hence,  also,  necessities  are  painful ;  and  it 
IS  rightly  said, 

Painful  is  every  necessary  work. 

Sedulity,  likewise,  study,  and  strenuous  endeavour  are 
painful;    (for  these   things  are  necessary   and  violent) 
unless  we  are  accustomed  to  them.     But   thus  custom 
renders  them  pleasant.     And  the  contraries  to  these  are 
pleasant.     Hence,  indolence,  cessation  from  labour,  free- 
dom  from  care,  mirth,  recreation  and  sleep,  are  in  the 
number  of  pleasant  things.     For  no   one  of  these  is 
attended  with  necessity.     Every  thing  likewise  which  we 
desire  is   pleasant.     For  desire  is  the  appetite  of  that 
which  is  pleasant.     Of  desires,  however,  some  are  irra- 
tional ;  but  others  are  attended  with  reason.     But  I  call 
those  irrational  through  which  we  do  not  desire  things 
because  we  are  rationally  of  opinion  that  they  are  proper 
ArisL  VOL.  I.  p      * 


66 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  I, 


for  US.     And  desires  of  this  kind  are  such  as  are  said 
to  be  inherent  in  us  naturally,  as  are  those  which  exist 
through  the  body;  such  for  instance  as  the  desire  of 
food,  thirst  and  hunger;  and  also  the  desire  of  every 
kind  of  food.     This  is  likewise  the  case  with  the  desires 
of  gustable  substances,  of  venereal  pleasures,  and  in  short 
of  tangible  objects,  and  of  what  pertains  to  the  smell  of 
fragrance,  to  the  hearing  and  the  sight.     But  the  desires 
attended  with  reason,  are  such  as  are  the  result  of  per- 
suasion.    For  men  desire  to  behold,  and  possess  many 
things  from  report  and  persuasion.     Since,  however,  the 
being  delighted  consists  in  the  sensible  perception  of  a 
certain  passion ;  but  the  phantasy  or  imagination  is  a  cer- 
tain debile  sense ;  and  both  to  him  who  remembers  and 
him  who  hopes,   a   certain   imagination   is   consequent 
of  that  which  he  remembers  or  hopes  ; — if  this  be  the 
case,  it  is  evident  that  pleasures  are  present  with  those 
that  have  strong  memories  and  hopes,  since  sensible  per- 
ception is  also  present  with  them.     Hence,  it  is  necessary 
that  all  pleasant  things  must  either  consist  in  the  sensible 
perception  of  what  is  present,  or  in  the  remembrance  of 
what  is  past,  or  in  the  hope  of  what  is  future.     For  pre- 
sent things  are  the  objects  of  sensible  perception,  but 
past  things  are  remembered,  and  future  events  are  the 
subjects  of  hope.     Things,   therefore,   which   are  pre- 
served in  the  memory  are  pleasant,  not  only  such  as  were 
then  delightful  when  they  were  present,  but  some  also 
which  were  then  not  delightful,  if  afterwards  they  are 
attended  with  the  beautiful  and  the  good.     Whence, 
also,  it  is  said  [by  Euripides,] 


*Tis  pleasant  when  from  danger  free, 
To  recollect  past  misery. 


CHAP.  XI. 


RHETORIC. 


67 


And  also  [by  Eumasus  in  the  Odyssey,  Book  15.] 

For  he  who  much  has  suffered,  much  will  know, 
And  pleas'd  remembrance  builds  delight  in  woe. 

But  the  cause  of  this  is,  that  it  is  also  delightful  not 
to  be  in  possession  of  evil.  With  respect  however  to 
such  things  as  pertain  to  hope,  those  which  when  pre- 
sent appear  greatly  to  delight  or  benefit,  or  [at  least]  to 
benefit  without  pain  ;  and  in  short,  such  things  as  aflford 
delight  when  present,— of  these  the  hope  and  the  re- 
membrance are  for  the  most  part  delectable.  Hence, 
also,  it  is  pleasant  to  be  enraged ;  as  Homer  [in  Iliad, 
18.]  says  of  anger  : 

Far  sweeter  to  the  soul  than  honey  to  the  taste. 

For  no  one  is  enraged  vdth  a  circumstance  which  it 
appears  impossible  to  revenge ;  nor  are  men  at  all  en- 
raged, or  they  are  enraged  in  a  less  degree,  with  those 
that  are  far  superior  to  them  in  power.     A  certain  plea- 
sure,  likewise,  is  consequent  to  most  desires.     For  men 
rejoice  with  a  certain  pleasure,  either  from  remembering 
what  they  have  obtained,  or  from  the  hope  of  what  they 
may  obtain.     Thus  for  instance,  those  that  in  fevers  are 
afflicted  with  thirst,  are  delighted  with  remembering  how 
they  have  drank,  and  with  the  hope  that  they  shall  again 
drink.     Those  also  who  are  in  love,  are  always  delighted 
with  some  circumstance  pertaining  to  the  beloved  object, 
when  they  converse,  or  write,  and  in  short,  in  all  their 
actions.     For  in  every  thing  of  this  kind,  by  recollection 
they  fancy  that  they  have  a  sensible  perception  as  it  were 
of  the  object  of  their  love.     The  beginning  itself,  like- 
wise, of  love  is  produced  in  all  persons,  when  they  are 
not  only  delighted  with  the  beloved  object  when  present. 


68 


THE    ART    Of 


BOOK  1. 


but  also  With  the  recollection  of  it  when  absent.  Hence, 
also,  when  they  are  afflicted  from  the  absence  of  the  ob- 
ject of  their  love,  a  certain  pleasure  is  ingenerated  in  their 
grief  and  lamentation.  For  the  pain  which  they  feel 
arises  from  the  beloved  object  not  being  present ;  but 
the  pleasure  from  the  remembrance  and  perception  in  a 
certain  respect  of  this  object,  and  of  what  he  did,  and 
what  kind  of  a  person  he  was.  Hence,  also,  the  poet 
says  [of  Achilles  in  Iliad,  23.] 


Thus  having  said,  he  raised  in  ev'ry  one, 
An  ardent  wish  his  sorrows  to  bemoan. 

Revenge  likewise  is  pleasant.  For  that  of  which  the 
frustration  is  painful,  the  obtaining  is  pleasant.  But  those 
who  are  enraged,  are  pained  in  a  transcendent  degree, 
if  they  cannot  take  revenge  ;  but  they  are  delighted  with 
the  hope  of  vengeance.  To  conquer  also  is  pleasant,  not 
only  to  those  who  are  lovers  of  victory,  but  to  all  men. 
For  there  is  an  imagination  of  transcendency  [in  van- 
quishing,] of  which  all  men  possess  the  desire,  either 
more  or  less  ardently.  Since,  however,  it  is  pleasant  to 
conquer,  those  sports,  also,  must  be  delightful  which  re- 
late to  war,  to  playing  on  the  pipe,  and  to  verbal  con- 
tests  ;  for  in  these  victory  is  frequently  obtained.  This 
is  likewise  the  case  with  the  games  of  dice,  tennice, 
tables,  &c.  and  in  a  similar  manner  with  serious  games. 
For  some  of  these  become  pleasant  from  custom ;  but 
others  are  immediately  pleasant,  such  for  instance  as 
every  kind  of  hunting.  For  where  there  is  contention, 
there  also  there  is  victory.  Hence,  the  pleading  of 
causes  and  contentious  disputes  are  pleasant  to  those 
that  are  accustomed  to,  and  are  able  to  engage  in  them. 


CHAP.  XI. 


RHETORIC. 


69 


Honour,  likewise,  and  reputation,  are  among  the  number 

of  things  most  pleasant,  because  every  one  imagines  that 

he  is  a  man  of  this  kind,  and  that  he  is  a  worthy  person  ^ 

and  more  so  when  others  assert  this  of  him,  whom  he 

considers  as  persons  of  veracity.     Such  are  neighbours 

rather  than  those  that  live  at  a  distance ;  friends,  acquaint- 

ance,  and  fellow  citizens,  rather  than  foreigners  ;    such 

as  are  now  in  being,  rather  than  such  as  are  yet  to  be 

born  ;  the  prudent  rather  than  the  imprudent ;  and  the 

many  rather  than  the  few.     For  it  is  more  likely  that 

the  above-mentioned  persons  should  speak  the   truth, 

than  those  of  a  contrary  description.     For  with  respect 

to  such  things  as  a  man  very  much  despises,  as  children 

or  wild  beasts,  no  one  pays  any  attention  to  the  honour 

or  opinion  of  these,  for  the  sake  of  the  opinion  itself  j 

but  if  he  does  it,  it  is  for  the  sake  of  something  else. 

A  friend,  likewise,  is  among  the  number  of  delightful 
things  J    for  friendly  love  is  delectable  ;  since  no  one  is 
a  lover  of  wine  who  is  not  pleased  with  wine.     To  be 
beloved,  also,  is  delightful.     For  this  causes  the  person 
beloved  to  imagine  that  he  is  a  good  man,  which  is  de- 
sired by  all  men  that  are  endued  with  sense.     But  to  be 
beloved  is  for  a  man  to  be  dear  to  another  person,  him- 
self  on  account   of  himself.     To  be  admired  also   by 
others  is  pleasant,  on  account  of  being  honoured,  [as  the 
consequence  of  being  admired.]     To  be  flattered,  like- 
wise, and  the  flatterer  himself  are  pleasant ;  for  a  flatterer 
is  an  apparent  admirer,  and  an  apparent  friend.     To  do 
the  same  things  frequently,  likewise,  is  delightful ;    for 
what  is  customary  is  pleasing.     Change  also  is  pleasing ; 
for  it  is  pleasant  to  return  to  a  natural  condition  which 
is  effected  by  mutation.     For  to  remain  always  in  the 


70 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  I. 


same   state,   too    much   increases   habit   [and  produces 
satiety.]  Whence  it  is  said  [by  Euripides  in  his  Orestes,] 

Sweet  is  the  change  of  all  things'. 

For  on  this  account  things  which  are  performed  through 
intervals  of  time  are  pleasant ;    and  the  sight  of  our  ac- 
quaintance is  pleasing  after  some  time  has  elapsed.     For 
this  is  a  mutation  from  the  present  time ;  and  likewise 
that  is  rare  which  takes  place  through  an  interval  of  time. 
To  learn,  also,  and  to  admire  are  for  the  most  part  de- 
lectable.      For  in  admiration  there  is  a  desire  of  learning 
[something  ;]    so  that  what  is  admirable  is  the  object  of 
desire.  But  in  learning  there  is  a  transition  into  a  condition 
according  to  nature.'     To  benefit,  likewise,  and  to  be 
benefited  are  among  the  number  of  things  delectable. 
For  to  be  benefited  is  to  obtain  the  objects  of  desire ;  but 
to  benefit  is  to  possess  and  transcend,  both  which  are  de- 
sirable.      Because,   however,  it  is  pleasant  to  have  the 
power  of  benefiting,  hence,  men  are  delighted  in  cor- 
recting the  miscarriages  of  their  neighbours,  and  in  com- 
pleting  what  is  deficient.     Since,  also,  to  learn  and  to 
admire  are  delectable,  those  things  must  necessarily  be 
pleasant  which  consist   in   imitation,    such  as   painting, 
sculpture  and  poetry;    and  whatever  is  well  imitated, 
though  that  of  which  it  is  the  imitation  should  not  be 
pleasing.     For  in  this  case,  we  are  not  delighted  with 
the  imitation,  but  with  the  reasoning  by  which  we  know 
what  that  is  which  is  imitated  >,  so  that  it  happens  that 
we  learn  something.     A  variety  likewise  of  unexpected 
accidents,  and  narrow  escapes  from  dangers,  are  delect- 

■  Because  by  learning  we  pass  from  ignorance  to  knowled>«> 
which  is  a  natural  transition  to  such  a  reasonable  being  as  man. 


CHAP.  XI. 


RHETORIC, 


71 


able;  for  all  these  are  admirable.  And  because  that 
which  is  according  to  nature  is  pleasant,  but  things  which 
are  allied  are  naturally  conjoined  with  each  other,  hence 
all  things  that  are  allied  and  similar,  are  for  the  most 
part  delightful ;  as  man  with  man,  horse  with  horse,  and 
the  young  with  the  young.  Hence,  also,  the  proverb 
sameness  of  age  is  delighted  with  sameness  of  age  ;  and, 
always  like  to  like ;  and,  beast  knows  beast ;  and,  al- 
ways the  blackbird  to  the  blackbird,  and  others  of  the 
like  kind.  Since,  however,  that  which  is  similar  and 
allied  to  any  thing  is  delightful  to  it,  but  every  man  is 
especially  thus  affected  towards  himself,  it, necessarily  fol- 
lows that  all  men  are  lovers  of  themselves  more  or  less ; 
for  such  things  [as  similitude  and  alliance]  are  especially 
present  with  a  man  towards  himself.  But  because  all 
men  are  lovers  of  themselves,  hence,  those  things  which 
are  their  own,  must  necessarily  be  delightful  to  all  men ; 
such  as  their  works,  and  their  orations.  Hence,  for  the 
most  part  they  love  their  flatterers,  and  those  that  love 
them  ;  they  are  ambitious,  and  love  their  children ;  for 
children  are  their  own  works.  It  is  likewise  pleasant  to 
give  completion  to  things  which  are  deficient ;  for  it  now 
becomes  our  own  work.  And  because  it  is  most  plea- 
sant to  govern,  it  is  likewise  delightful  to  seem  to  be  wise. 
For  to  be  wise  is  a  thing  of  a  ruling  nature.  But  wisdom 
is  the  science  of  many  and  admirable  things.  Farther 
still,  since  men  are  for  the  most  part  ambitious,  it  neces- 
sarily follows  that  they  are  delighted  to  rule  over  and 
reprove  their  neighbours.  It  is  likewise  delectable  to  a 
man  to  be  conversant  with  that  in  which  he  thinks  he 
particularly  excels ;  as  Euripides  also  says,  "  To  this 
he  eagerly  applies  himself,  bestowing  the  greatest  part  of 
every  day  upon  it,  in  order  that  he  may  even  surpass 


72 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  I, 


himself."  In  like  manner,  because  all  recreation  and  re- 
laxation  is  pleasant,  and  laughter  also  is  among  the  num- 
ber  of  things  that  are  delectable,  it  necessarily  follows 
that  ridiculous  things  are  pleasant,  as  well  ridiculous 
men,  as  ridiculous  speeches  and  works.  Ridiculous 
things,  however,  are  separately  discussed  by  us  in  the 
treatise  on  Poetry.  And  thus  much  concerning  things 
which  are  delectable.  But  things  which  are  painful  will 
be  manifest  from  the  contraries  to  these.  Such,  there- 
fore, are  the  particulars  for  the  sake  of  which  men  act 
unjustly. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


Let  us  now  consider  what  the  condition  is  of  men 

that  do  an  injury,  and  who  those  are  whom  they  injure. 

They  are,  therefore,   then  indeed  [prepared  to  do  an 

injury,]  when  they  fancy  the  thing  is  possible  to  be  done, 

and  it  is  possible  to  be  done  by  them,  whether  they  can 

do  it  latently,  or  so  as  not  to  suffer  punishment  though 

it  should  not  be  done  latently ;   or  when  they  think  that 

they  may  suffer  punishment,  indeed,  but  that  the  loss 

which  they  shall  sustain  by  it,  will  be  less  than  the  gain 

which  will  accrue  to  themselves,  or  to  those  who  are  the 

objects  of  their  care. 


CHAP,  xn. 


RHETORIC. 


73 


With  respect  therefore  to  what  appears  possible  to  be 
effected,  and  what  not,  this  will  be  afterwards  explained; 
for  these  things  are  common  to  all  the  parts  of  rhetoric. 
Those  men,  however,  fancy  themselves  especially  able 
to  do  an  injury  with  impunity,  who  are  able  both  to 
speak  and  act,  and  who  are  skilled  in  a  multitude  of 
[forensic]  contests.     Those,  also,  fancy  they  can  escape 
with  impunity  who  have  a  great  number  of  friends,  and 
especially,   indeed,  if   they   imagine   themselves   to  be 
powerful  in  what  we  have  mentioned ;  or  if  they  are  not, 
if  their  friends,  or  assistants,  or  accomplices  are  persons 
of  this  description.    For  through  these  they  nj^y  be  able 
to  effect  their  purpose  latently,  and  without  suffering 
punishment.     This  will  also  be  the  case,  if  they  are  the 
friends  of  those  that  are  injured,  or  of  the  judges.     For 
friends  are  careless  of  injuries,  and  are  reconciled  before 
prosecution.     The  judges,  also,   are  willing  to  gratify 
their  friends,  and  either  entirely  acquit  them,  or  inflict  a 
small  punishment.     But  those  are  adapted  to  be  con- 
cealed, who  have  a  disposition  contrary  to  the  alleged 
crimes  ;  as  for  instance,  a  feeble  man,  when  accused  of 
striking  another,  and  a  poor  and  deformed  man  when  ac- 
cused of  adultery.  This  is  also  the  case  if  the  crime  is  com- 
mitted very  openly,  and  in  the  eyes  of  all  men,  because  in 
short  no  one  would  think  it  to  be  true.  Or  if  the  crimes  are 
so  great,  and  so  many,  as  not  to  have  been  committed 
by  any  one  person  before.     For  men  are  not  aware  of 
such  injuries ;  since  all  men  shun  those  that  are  accus- 
tomed  to  act  ill,    in  the  same  manner  as  they  shun 
diseases ;  but  no  one  avoids  him  that  has  not  yet  been 
afflicted  with  disease.     Those,  likewise,  think  they  shall 
be  concealed,  who  injure  those  who  have  none,  or  those 
who  have  many  enemies.     For  if  they  injure  the  former 


74 


THE    ART    OF 


EOOK  I. 


they  fancy  they  snail  be  concealed,  because  they  are  not 
suspected;  but  if  they  injure  the  latter,  that  they  shall 
be  concealed,  because  it  seems  incredible  that  they  would 
attack  those  who  are  aware  of  them,  and  because  they 
might  urge  in  their  defence,  that  they  did  not  make  the 
attempt  [because  they  were  certain  they  should  find  re- 
sistance.] The  like  may  be  said  of  those  who  are  pro- 
vided with  the  means  of  concealment,  or  of  some  place, 
or  mode  of  escape  which  is  at  hand  ;  and  also  of  such, 
who  if  they  cannot  conceal  themselves,  can  put  oft  the 
cause  by  delay  of  justice,  or  by  corrupting  the  judges. 
This  too  fiay  be  said  of  those  who,  if  they  are  amerced, 
delay  or  buy  off"  the  payment,  or  who  through  poverty 
have  nothing  to  lose.  And  of  those  whose  gains  are 
apparent,  or  great,  or  near ;  but  their  punishments  either 
small,  or  unapparent,  or  at  a  distance.  Likewise  where 
the  punishment  is  not  equal  to  the  profit,  as  appears  to 
be  the  case  in  a  tyranny.  And  also  with  those  that  gain 
by  the  injury,  but  are  only  disgraced  by  the  punishment. 
And  also  with  those  to  whom  the  contrary  happens,  that 
the  injuries  procure  them  a  certain  praise,  as  if  it  should 
happen,  as  it  did  to  Zeno,  that  a  man  in  avenging  an 
injury,  at  the  same  time  revenges  an  injury  done  to  his 
father  or  mother ;  but  the  punishments  are  either  a  fine 
or  banishment,  or  something  of  this  kind.  For  both 
these  do  an  injury,  whether  it  be  done  this  way  or  that, 
though  they  are  not  the  same  persons,  but  contrary  in 
their  manners.  Those,  likewise,  [are  audacioiis  in  com- 
mitting  injuries,]  who  have  frequently  either  been  con- 
cealed, or  not  been  punished.  This  is  likewise  the  case 
with  those  who  have  frequently  failed  in  their  attempts  ; 
for  in  things  of  this  kind,  in  the  same  manner  as  in  war- 
like concerns,  there  are  some  who  are  still  prepared  to 


CHAP.  XII. 


RHETORIC. 


75 


renew  the  fight.     And  also  with  those  to  whom  the 
delightful  is  immediately  present,  but  the  painful  follows 
afterwards ;  or  gain  is  immediate,  but  punishment  pos- 
terior.     For  the  intemperate  are  persons  of  this  descrip- 
tion ;  but  there  is  intemperance  with  respect  to  all  such 
things  as  are  the  objects  of  desire.     Those,  likewise, 
[confidently  do  an  injury]  to  whom  on  the  contrary  the 
painful  is  immediately  present,  or  punishment,  but  the 
delightful  and  the  advantageous  are  present  afterwards 
and  later.     For  the  continent,  and  those  who  are  more 
prudent,  pursue  things  of  this  kind.     This  is  also  the 
case  with  those  who  may  seem  to  have  act«l  from  for- 
tune  or  necessity,  from  nature,  or  from  custom  ;  and  in 
short,  who  have  erred,  but  have  not  done  any  injury. 
The  like  too  may  be  said  of  those  who  have  been  able  to 
obtain  an  equitable  decision  ;  and  of  such  as  are  in  want. 
But  men  are  in  want  in  a  twofold  respect ;  either  as  being 
in  want  of  necessaries,  as  is  the  case  with  the  poor ;   or 
as  being  in  want  of  superfluities,  as  is  the  case  with  the 
rich.     Those  also  [are  prone  to  do  injuries]  who  are 
renowned,  and  also  those  who  are  very  infamous.     The 
former,  indeed,  because  it  will  not   be   supposed  that 
they  have  done  an  injury ;  and  the  latter  because  they 
will  not  become  at  all  more  infamous  [by  doing  the 
injury.]      Under  these  circumstances,  therefore,  they 
attempt  [to  act  unjustly.] 


76 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  I. 


CHAP.  XIII. 


RHETORIC. 


77 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

Men,  therefore,  injure  those  who  possess  things  of 
which  they  are  in  want,  whether  they  pertain  to  the  ne- 
cessaries, or  to  the  superfluities  of  life,  or  the  enjoyment 
[of  pleasur^.]     They  also  injure  those  that  live  at  a  dis- 
tance, and  those  that  live  near  them  ;  for  the  plunder  of 
the  latter  is  rapid,  and  the  punishment  attending  the  in- 
jury done  to  the  former  is  slow ;  as   was  the  case  with 
those  who  plundered  the  Carthaginians.     Men  likewise 
injure  the  unwary,  and  those  who  are  not  on  their  guard, 
but  are  credulous ;  for  it  is  easy  to  deceive  all  these. 
They  also  injure  the  indolent ;  for  it  is  the  province  of  a 
diligent  man  to  avenge  the  injuries  he  has  received.     And 
likewise  the  bashful  j  for  these  do  not   contend  about 
gain.     They  also  injure  those  who  have  been  injured  by 
many,  and  who  do  not  avenge  the  injuries  they  have  re- 
ceived, as  being  according  to  the  proverb  the  Mysian 
prey.     Likewise  those  whom  they  have  never,  and  those 
whom   they  have  frequently   injured.     For  both  these 
are  incautious ;  the  former,  indeed,  as  havhig  never  been 
injured,  and  the  latter  because  they  expect  to  be  injured 
no  more.     Also  those  who  are  or  may  easily  be  scanda- 
lized ;  for  persons  of  this  description,  neither  deliberately 
chuse  [to  avenge  an  injury]  being  afraid  of  the  judges, 
nor  are  able  to  persuade  [others  that  they  have  been  in- 
jured 5]  among  the  number  of  which  are  those  who  are 


hated  and  injured.     Likewise,  men  injure  those  against 
whom  there  is  a  pretext,  either  because  they  themselves, 
or  their  ancestors,  or  friends,   have  acted  ill,  or  would 
have  acted  ill,  either  to  themselves,  or  to  their  ancestors, 
or  to  those  that  are  under  their  protection.     For,  as  the 
proverb  says,   Depravity  only  wants  a  pretence.     Men, 
also,  injure  both  their  enemies  and  friends ;  for  to  injure 
the  one  is  easy,  and  the  other  pleasant.     Likewise  those 
who  are  without  friends,  and  who  are  not  skilful  in  speaking 
or  acting.     For  these  either  do  not  endeavour  to  revenge 
the  injury  they  have  received,  or  they  become  reconciled, 
or  they  finally  effect  nothing.     Also  those  who   derive 
no  advantage  in  waiting  for  judgment  and  recompence, 
such  as  foreigners   and  handicraft  tradesmen ;  for  these 
are  satisfied  with  a  small  recompence  for  the  injuries  they 
may  have  received,  and  such  men  easily  cease  from  pro- 
secution.  Men  likewise  injure  those  who  have  already  done 
many  injuries  to  others,  or  who  have  done  such  injuries 
as  they  now  suffer.     For  it  seems  to  be  something  near 
to  the  not  doing  an  injury,  when  any  one  suffers  such  an 
injury,  as  he  is  accustomed  to  do  to  others.     I  say,  for 
instance,  as  if  a  man  should  chastise  him  who  acted  inso- 
lently  towards  others.     They  also  injure  those  who  have 
acted  ill,  or  who  have  wished  to  do  so,  or  have  this  wish 
at  present,  or  intend  to  do  an  injury  hereafter.     For  it  is 
attended  both  with  the  pleasant  and  the  beautiful ;  and 
this  appears  to  be  near  to  not  acting  unjustly.     Men  like- 
wise injure  those,  in   injuring  whom  they  gratify  their 
friends,  or  those  whom  they  admire,  or  love,  or  their 
masters,  or  in  short  those  with   whom  they  live,  and 
from  whom  they  expect   to  obtain   some  good.  'aIso 
those  whom  they  have  falsely  accused,  and  their  friend- 
ship  with  whom  is  dissolved.     For  things  of  this  kind 


\ 


78 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  !• 


CIJAP.  XIV. 


RHETORIC. 


79 


appear  to  be  near  to  the  doing  no  injury,  as  was  the  case 
between  Cah'ppus  and  Dion.  They  hkewise  injure  those 
who  unless  they  were  injured  by  them,  would  be  op- 
pressed  by  others,  as  if  with  these  there  was  no  longer 
any  place  for  consultation ;  as  Anesidemus  is  reported  to 
have  written  to  Gelo,  when  Calabria  would  have  been 
depopulated  by  him,  that  he  had  anticipated  him,  as  if 
he  intended  to  have  done  the  same  thing  himself.  Also 
those,  to  whom  if  they  have  injured  them  they  may  do 
many  things  justly  by  way  of  satisfaction ;  as  Jason  of 
Thessaly  said,  it  is  necessary  to  act  unjustly  in  some 
things,  in  order  that  we  may  be  able  to  do  many  just 
things. 

Men  likewise  act  unjustly  in  those  things,  in  which  all 
or  many  persons  are  accustomed  to  act  injuriously ;  for 
they  fancy  they  shall  obtain  pardon  for  thus  acting. 
Also  in  those  things  which  can  easily  be  concealed.  But 
things  of  this  kind  are  such  as  are  easily  consumed,  such 
as  esculent  substances ;  or  which  are  easily  changed, 
either  in  their  figure,  or  colour,  or  temperament ;  or 
which  may  easily  be  concealed  in  many  places.  But 
things  of  this  kind  are  such  as  are  portable,  and 
which  may  be  concealed  in  small  places;  and  which 
also  resemble  many  things  which  he  that  did  the 
injury  possessed  before.  Men  likewise  commit  injuries 
m  those  things  which  those  who  are  injured  are  ashamed 
to  disclose ;  such  as  insolent  and  indecent  behaviour  to- 
wards the  wife  of  a  man,  or  towards  himself,  or  his  chil- 
dren. They  also  injure  others  in  those  things,  which 
show  the  prosecutor  to  be  a  contentious  person;  but 
things  of  this  kind  are  such  as  are  of  small  consequence, 
and  for  which   pardon  is  granted.     And  thus   we  have 


an 


nearly  shown  how  men  are  capacitated  when  they  do 
injury,  in  what   things  they  act  unjustly,  what  kind  of 
men  they  injure,  and  on  what  account. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


Let  us  now  distinguish  between  all  unjust  and  just 
deeds  first  beginning  from  hence.  Just  and  unjust  deeds, 
therefore,  are  divided  with  reference  to  two  laws,  and 
with  reference  to  the  persons  to  whom  they  relate  in  two 
ways. 

-\ 

But  I  call  law  either  proper  or  common.     And  the 
proper,  indeed,  is  that  which  the  several  [cities  and  na- 
tions]  have  established  among  themselves.     And  of  this 
law,  one  part  is  not  written,  but  the  other  part  is  written. 
But  common  law  is  that  which  is  according  to  nature. 
For  there  is   something  which  is  just,  and  something 
which  is  unjust  in  common  naturally,  and  which  all  men 
prophetically  pronounce  to  be  so,   though  they  have  no 
communion  nor  compact  with  each  other.     And  this  the 
Antigone  of  Sophocles  appears  to   intimate,  when  she 
asserts  that  it  is  just  to  bury  Polynices,  though  forbidden 
to  do  so  [by  Creon  the  king,]  because  this  is  naturally 
just : 


i 


80 


THE  ART  OF 


nor  could  I  ever  think, 


BOOK  I. 


CHAP.  XIV. 


RHETORIC. 


81 


i 


A  mortal's  law  of  power  or  strength  sufficient. 
To  abrogate  th*  unwritten  Jaw  divine. 
Immutable,  eternal,  not  like  these. 
Of  yesterday,  but  made  ere  time  began. 

And  as  Empedocles  says  with  respect  to  not  slaying 
that  which  is  animated.  For  this  is  not  indeed  just  to 
some  persons,  but  not  just  to  others. 

But  a  fixed  law  in  all  men's  breasts,  where'er 
Heaven's  light  immense  shines  thro*  wide-ruling  air. 

And  this  is  also  confirmed  by  Alcidamas  in  his  Messeniac 
oration.    . 

The  persons,  however,  to  whom  the  just  and  the  un- 
just are  referred,  are  distinguished  in  a  twofold  respect. 
For  what  ought  and  what  ought  not  to  be  done  is  either 
referred  to  the  community,  or  to  one  individual  of  the 
community.  Hence,  also,  with  respect  to  unjust  and  just 
deeds,  it  is  possible  to  act  justly  and  unjustly  in  two  ways ; 
viz.  towards  one  definite  person,  or  towards  the  commu- 
nity. For  he  who  commits  adultery,  or  strikes  a  man, 
injures  some  definite  person  ;  but  he  who  does  not  fight 
[for  his  country,]  injures  the  community. 

Since,  therefore,  all  unjust  deeds  receive  a  twofold 
division,  and  some  have  a  reference  to  the  community, 
but  others  to  diflFerent  private  persons,  after  repeating 
what  it  is  to  be  injured,  we  shall  explain  the  rest.  To  be 
injured,  therefore,  is  to  suffer  unjustly,  by  those  who  act 
voluntarily ;  for  we  have  before  defined  the  injuring 
another  person  to  be  a  voluntary  deed.  Since,  however, 
he  who  is  injured  is  necessarily  hurt,  and  is  hurt  unwil- 


lingly ;  what  hurts  are,  indeed,  is  evident  from  what  has 
been  before  said.  For  good  and  evil  have  been  already 
essentially  distinguished ;  and  voluntary  deeds  are  such 
as  men  perform  knowingly.  Hence  it  is  necessary  that 
all  crimes  should  either  be  committed  against  the  com- 
mumty,  or  against  an  individual,  and  this  either  by  one 
who  IS  ignorant,  or  by  one  who  is  unwilling,  or  by  one 
who  acts  willingly  and  knowingly. 

And  of  these  crimes,  some  are  the  result  of  deliberate 
choice,  but  others  are  the  effect  of  passion.  Concerning 
the  crimes  therefore  which  are  produced  from  anger,  we 
shall  speak  when  we  discuss  the  passions.  And  we  have 
^ready  shown  what  are  the  objects  of  deliberate  choice, 
and  how  men  are  disposed  with  respect  to  them. 

Since,  however,  frequently  men  who  confess  that  they 
have  done  a  thing  of  which  they  are  accused,  either  deny 
the  name  by  which  the  accuser  calls  the  deed,  and  in- 
scribes the  accusation,  or  deny  the  thing  which  is  sig. 
nified  by  the  inscription  ;  as  for  instance,  that  the  thing 
was  taken,  indeed,  but  not  stolen ;  and  that  such  a  one 
gave  the  first  blow,  but  did  not  act  insolently  ;  and  asso- 
ciated  with  the  woman,  indeed,   but  did  not  commit 
adultery  with  her ;  or  that  he  committed  a  theft,  but  not 
sacrilege ;  (for  he  took  nothing  consecrated  to  divinity) 
or  that  he  broke  up  land,  but  not  belonging  to  the  pub- 
he  ;   or  that  he  discoursed  with  the  enemy,  but  did  not 
betray  his  country  ;  on  these  accounts,  it  will  be  requi- 
site to  define  what  theft,  insolent  conduct,  and  adultery 
are,  in  order  that  if  we  wish  to  show  these  offences  were 
committed  or  not,  we  may  be  able  to  declare  what  is 

^I^St.  VOL,  I.  J. 


82 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  I. 


just.  Every  thing,  however,  of  this  kind  pertains  to  the 
question  whether  the  thing  is  unjust  and  wicked,  or  is 
not  unjust ;  for  depravity  and  acting  unjustly  consist  in 
deliberate  choice.  But  appellations  of  this  kind  pr^ig-; 
nify  deliberate  choice ;  as  for  instance,  insolent  conduct 
and  theft.  For  it  does  not  follow  that  he  who  strikes 
another  acts  entirely  insolently  towards  him,  but  then 
only  if  he  strikes  him  for  the  sake  of  insulting  him,  as 
for  instance,  with  a  view  to  disgrace  him,  or  to  please 
himself.  Nor  does  it  entirely  follow  that  if  a  man  re- 
ceives any  thing  latently,  that  he  has  stolen  it ;  but  if  he 
takes  it  away  with  a  view  to  the  detriment  of  him  from 
whom  he  takes  it,  and  of  his  own  advantage.  The  like 
also  takes  place  in  other  things,  in  the  same  manner  as* 
in  these. 

Since,  however,  there  are  two  species  of  just  and  un- 
just things  ;  for  some  indeed  are  written,  but  others  are 
not  committed  to  writing ;  of  those  indeed  which  are 
proclaimed  by  the  laws  we  have  already  spoken. 

But  of  those  which  are  not  committed  to  writing  there 
are  two  species.  And  of  these,  some  indeed  consist  in 
the  excess  of  virtue  and  vice,  in  which  are  disgrace  and 
praise,  ignominy  and  honour  and  gifts  ;  such  for  instance,, 
as  to  be  grateful  to  a  benefactor,  to  benefit  him  whoj 
benefits,  to  be  ready  to  give  assistance  to  friends,  and 
other  things  of  the  like  kind. 


But  others  are  a  supplement  to  the  proper  and  written: 
law.  For  the  equitable  appears  to  be  just ;  and  the. 
equitable  is  that  which  is  juwSt,  besides  what  is  enjoined- 


CHAP.  XIV. 


RHETORIC. 


83 


n  the  written  law.  This,  however,  happens  partly  against 
the  will,   and  partly  with   the  will  of   the   legislators. 

bTZ^T  ""1;  •"^^^'^'  -'^^^  C^J^e  cringe]  is  lafent. 
But  with  their  will  when  they  are  unable  to  define  the 
thing  ;   and  it  is  necessary,  indeed,  to  assert  universally 
that  the  thing  does  not  thus  subsist  always,   but  for  the 
most  part.    Legislators  also  omit  certain  things  willlnglv 
which  n  is  not  easy  to  determine  on  account  of  thel^ 
infimty ;  as  for  instance,  [when  they  ordain  a  punish- 
ment] for  striking  a  man  with  iron,   they  omit  to  deter- 
mine the  quantity  and  the  quality  of  the  iron.     For  life 
would  not  be  sufficient  to  enumerate  things  of  this  kind.- 
If,  therefore,  any  thing  is  indefinite ;  but  it  is  requisite  to 
make  a  law  concerning  it.  the  legislator  must  necessarily 
promulgate  the  law  simply.     Hence,  if  a  man  having  a 
nng  on  his  finger  lifts  up  his  hand  against,   or  strikes 
another  person,  according  to  the  written  law,  indeed   he 
IS  guilty,  and  acts  unjustly  ;   but  in  reality,  he  does  not 
act  unjustly  [by  striking  him  with  his  ring;]  and  this  is 
the  equitable.     If  then  what  we  have  said  be  equity  it  is 
evident  what  kind  of  things  are  equitable  and  not  equi- 
table,  and  also  what  kind  of  men  are  not  equitable      For 
those  things  are  equitable  in  which  it  is  necessary  to 
grant  pardon.     It  is  likewise  equitable  not  to  estimate 
errors  and  injuries  as  deserving  equal  punishment,  nor 
errors  and  misfortunes.    But  misfortunes  are  such  things 
as  happen  contrary  to  expectation,  and  not  from  depra- 
vity.    Errors  are  such  things  as  do  not  happen  contrary 
to  expectation,  and  are  not  from  depravity ;  but  injuries 
are  such  things  as  are  not  effected  contrary  to  expec- 
tation, but  proceed  from  depravity.     For  what  proceeds 
from  desire,'  emanates  from  depravity.     It  is  likewise 

•  When  the  whole  soul  is  considered  as  divided  into  reason,  anger. 


84 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  I. 


equitable  to  pardon  human  [frailties.]  Also  not  to 
direct  our  attention  to  the  law,  but  the  legislator. 
And  not  to  look  to  the  action,  but  to  the  deliberate  in- 
tention of  him  who  did  it.  Nor  to  a  part  of  a  thing  but 
the  whole.  Nor  to  consider  what  kind  of  a  person  a 
man  is  now,  but  what  he  always  was,  or  for  the  most 
part.  It  is  also  the  province  of  an  equitable  man  rather 
to  remember  the  good  than  the  evil  which  he  has  re- 
ceived from  another ;  and  to  be  more  mindful  of  the 
good  which  he  has  received,  than  of  the  good  w^hich  he 
has  done.  Also  to  endure  the  being  injured,  patiently ; 
and  to  be  more  willing  that  a  controversy  should  be 
decided  by  words  than  by  deeds.  He  is  likewise  more 
desirous  that  a  thing  should  be  decided  by  arbitration 
than  by  the  suffrages  of  judges.  For  an  arbitrator  looks 
to  the  equitable ;  but  a  judge  looks  to  the  law.  And 
recourse  is  had  to  an  arbitrator  for  the  sake  of  this,  viz. 
that  the  equitable  may  prevail.  And  thus  much  con- 
cerning the  equitable. 


and  desire,  the  last  of  these  parts  is  that  irrational  appetite  which  is 
solely  directed  to  external  objects,  and  to  the  gratification  arising 
from  the  possession  of  them  ;  just  as  anger  is  an  appetite  directed 
to  the  avengement  of  incidental  molestations. 


CHAP.  XV. 


RHETORIC. 


8S 


CHAPTER  XV. 


Those  mjur.es,  however,  are  greater  which  proceed 
from  greater  mjustice.     Hence,  also,  [sometimes]  the 
kast  mjunes  are  attended  with  the  greatest  [injustice.'] 
Thus  for  instance.   Callistratus  accused  Melanipus  for 
havmg  defrauded  the  builders  of  the  temple  of  three 
sacred  vessels  of  an  inconsiderable  value.     But  the  con- 
trary  takes  place  in  justice.     These,   however,  are  the 
greatest  mjQries.  because  they  transcend  in  power.     For 
he  who  stole   these  three   sacred  vessels,   would  have 
committed  any  other  unjust  act.     Sometimes,  therefore, 
the  mjury  is  thus  greater ;  but  sometimes  it  is  judgei 
[to  be  greater]  from  the  harm  that  ensues.     That  injury 
also  IS  considered  as  greater,  to  which  no  punishment  is 
equal    but  every  punishmem  is  less  than  it  deserves. 
And  hl^wise  that  for  which  there  is  no  remedy ;  because 
«  IS  difficult  and  impossible  to  apply  such  a  remedy. 
Also  that  for  which  the  sufferer  can  obtain  no  recom- 
pence ;  for  the  evil  is  incurable  ;  since  justice  and  punish- 
ment  are  the  remedies  [of  injuries.]     Likewise,  if  the 

•  Sometimes  injuries,  though  they  are  the  least,  because  they  are 
conversant  w.th  the  smaUest  things,  are  seen  to  proceed  from  Ae 
^atest  hab.t  of  mjustice.  and  oa  this  account  they  are  the  gxe«! 


86 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  I. 


suflFerer  and  he  who  is  injured,  cannot  endure  the  atten- 
dant Ignominy ;  for  in  this  case  he  who  did  the  injury 
deserves  to  be  punished  in  a  still  greater  degree.     Thus 
Sophocles  when  pleading  for  Euctemon,  because  he  who 
had  been  used  insolently  slew  himself,  said,  that  he  who 
had  done  the  injury  ought  not  to  be  punished  in  a  less 
degree,  than  he  had  punished  himself  who  had  been 
injured.     The  injury  likewise  is  greater  which  a  man 
does  alone,  or  the  first  of  all  men,  or  with  a  few  asso- 
ciates.    The  injury,  also,  is  considered  as  greater  which 
is  often  committed.     And  also  that  for  the  prevention  of 
which  laws  and  punishments  have  been  explored.     Thus 
in  Argos  those  are  punished,  on  whose  account  some 
new  law  is  established,  or  a  prison  is  built.     The  injury 
likewise  is  greater  which  is  more  brutal ;   and  also  that 
which  is  more  premeditated.     Likewise  that  which  ex- 
cites in  the  hearers  of  it,  terror  rather  than  pity.     And 
rhetorical  formulae,  indeed,  are  of  this  kind,  viz.  that  a 
man  has  subverted  or  transgressed  many  just  things, 
such  as  oaths,  pledges  of  faith,  and  conjugal  vows ;   for 
this  is  an  exuberance  of  many  injuries.     And,  also,  that 
a  man  has  committed  an  injury  there  where  those  that 
act  unjustly  are  punished  ;  as  is  the  case  with  false  wit- 
nesses.    For  where  will  not  he  do  an  injury  who  com- 
mits one  in  a  court  of  justice  ?     Likewise,  that  a  man 
has  done  an  injury  which  is  attended  with  the  greatest 
shame.     And  that  he  has  injured  him  by  whom  he  has 
been  benefited ;   for  such  a  one  multiplies  injuries,  be- 
cause he  acts  ill,  and  likewise  does  not  act  well.     Also, 
the  injury  is  greater  which  a  man  does  against  the  un- 
written laws ;  for  it  is  the  province  of  a  better  man  to 
be  just,  not  from  necessity,  [but  voluntarily.]     Written  ' 
laws,  therefore,  are  [observed]  from  necessity,  but  this 


CHAP.  XVI. 


RHITORrC. 


87 


IS  not  the  case  with  unviritten  laws.  But  after  another 
manner  the  injury  is  greater  which  is  committed  against 
the  wntten  laws.  For  he  who  acts  unjustly  in  those 
things  m  which  he  may  be  terrified  by  punishment,  will 
much  more  act  unjustly  in  those  things  for  which  no 
punishment  is  ordained.  And  thus  much  concerning  a 
greater  and  a  less  injury. 


r.'*- 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


It  follows  in  the  next  place  that  we  should  discuss 
what  are  called  inartificial  credibilities  ;  for  these  are 
peculiar  to  forensic  orations.  But  they  are  few  in  num. 
ber,  viz.  the  laws,  witnesses,  compacts,  examinations,  and 
an  oath. 

In  the  first  place,  therefore,  let  us  speak  about  laws, 
how  they  are  to  be  used,  both  by  him  that  exhorts,  and 
him  who  dissuades,  by  him  who  accuses,  and  him  who 
defends.  For  it  is  evident,  that  if  the  written  law  indeed 
is  contrary  to  the  affair,  the  common  law  must  be  used, 
and  equity,  as  being  more  just.  And  it  is  also  evident 
that  the  best  decision  will  then  be  given,  when  the  written 
laws  are  not  entirely  used.  The  equitable,  likewise, 
always  remains  and  never  changes,  and  this  too  is  the 


88 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  I. 


case  with  common  law ;  for  it  is  according  to  nature ; 
but  written  laws  are  frequently  changed.  Hence,  also, 
it  IS  said  in  the  Antigone  of  Sophocles,  (for  Antigone 
says  as  an  apology,  that  she  had  acted  contrary  to  the 
law  of  Creon,  but  not  contrary  to  the  unwritten  law.) 


nor  could  I  ever  think. 


A  mortal's  law,  of  power  or  strength  sufficient, 

To  abrogate  th*  unwritten  law  divine, 

Immutable,  eternal,  not  like  these. 

Of  yesterday,  but  made  ere  time  began. 

Shall  man  persuade  me,  then,  to  violate. 

Heaven's  great  commands,  and  make  the  gods  my  foes  ? 

It  is  likewise  evident  that  the  just  is  something  true 
and  advantageous,  but  not  that  which  seems  to  be  so ; 
so  that  what  is  written  is  not  law;  for  it  does  not  perform 
the  work  of  law.  It  may  likewise  be  said  that  a  judge 
is  like  an  assayer  of  silver  and  gold ;  for  it  is  his  pro- 
vince to  distinguish  what  is  truly  just  from  what  is  adulte- 
rate.  And,  also,  that  it  is  the  business  of  a  better  man 
rather  to  use  unwritten  than  written  laws,  and  to  abide 
by  their  decision.  It  must  likewise  be  considered  whether 
the  law  [in  force]  is  contrary  to  a  law  which  is  approved, 
or  is  itself  contrary  to  itself ;  as  when  the  one  law  com- 
mands all  contracts  to  be  firmly  observed ;  and  the 
other  forbids  any  contracts  to  be  made  contrary  to  law. 
It  must  also  be  considered,  whether  the  law  is  ambiguous, 
so  that  it  may  be  distorted,  and  then  it  must  be  seen  to 
what  part  the  just  is  to  be  adapted,  or  the  advantageous, 
and  afterwards  the  law  is  to  be  used.  If,  also,  the  things 
for  which  the  law  was  established  no  longer  remain,  but 
the  law  Itself  remains,  this  we  must  endeavour  to  render 
manifest,  and  thus  the  law  must  be  opposed  by  showing 
[that  things  being  changed,  the  law  also  is  to  be  changed 


tf.^M.  Jt5r..f..>rMfcjjtirSM^'a 


CHAP,  XVI. 


RHETORIC. 


89 


and  abrogated.]    But  if  the  written  law  is  adapted  to 
the  occasion  or  the  fact,  then  it  must  be  said  as  the  result 
of  the  best  decision,  that  the  law  was  established  not  for 
the  sake  of  judging  contrary  to  law,  but  in  order  that  he 
may  not  be  perjured  who  may  happen  to  be  ignorant 
what  the  law  says.     It  must  likewise  be  asserted,  that 
no  one  chuses  that  which  is  simply  good,  but  that  which 
is  good  to  himself.     And  that  it  makes  no  difference 
whether  laws  are  not  established,  or  are  not  used.    Like- 
wise, that  in  other  acts  it  is  of  no  advantage  to  dispute 
against  the  masters  of  them.     Thus  for  instance,  it  is 
not  expedient  for  one  who  is  sick  to  dispute  against  the 
prescriptions  of  the  physician ;  for  the  error  of  the  phy- 
sician  is  not  so  injurious,  as  it  is  to  be  accustomed  to 
disobey  a  ruler.    To  endeavour  likewise  to  become  wiser 
than  the  laws,  is  that  which  is  forbidden  in  celebrated 
laws.     And  thus  much  concerning  laws. 

^  With  respect  to  witnesses,  however,  there  are  two 
kinds ;  for  some  are  ancient ;  but  others  modern.  And 
of  the  latter,  some  are  partakers  of  danger,  but  others 
are  exempt  from  it.  But  I  call  ancient  witnesses  the 
poets,  and  other  illustrious  persons  whose  judgments 
[and  opinions]  are  manifest.  Thus  the  Athenians  made 
use  of  Homer  as  a  witness  about  Salamis ;  the  Tenedians 
of  Periander  the  Corinthian,  against  the  Sigceans ;  and 
Cleophon  made  use  of  the  elegies  of  Solon  against  Critias, 
in  order  that  he  might  show  that  the  family  of  Critias 
was  formerly  contumacious.  For  otherwise  Solon  would 
never  have  said, 


Bid  Critias  with  his  yellow  locks. 
His  father's  will  obey. 


90 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  I< 


CHAP.  XVI. 


RHliTORIC. 


Such,  therefore,  are  the  Witnesses  about  things  that  are 
fast.     But  with  respect  to  future  events  those  who  inter- 
pret  oracles  are  witnesses;  as  for  instance,  Themistocles, 
when  he  said  that  the  wooden  wall  [mentioned  by  the 
oracle]  signified  that  the  Athenians  must  betake  them- 
selves to  their  ships.    Proverbs  also  are  witnesses.    Thus, 
if  some  one  should  deliberate  whether  he  should  form  a 
friendship  with  an  old  man,  the  proverb  testifies  what  he 
IS  to  do,  which  says,  Never  confer  a  benefit  on  an  old 
man.     Thus,  also,  for  him  who  deliberates  whether  he 
shall  slay  the  children,  whose  parents  he  has  likewise 
slain,  there  is  this  proverb,  He  is  a  fool  who  hating 
slain  the  father  leaves  the  children.     Modern  or  recent 
witnesses,  however,  [who  have  no  share  in  the  danger,] 
are  such  as  being  illustrious  have  given  a  decision  [in  a 
court  of  justice.]     For  the  judgments  of  these  men  are 
useful  in  the  confirmation  of  what  is  doubtful.     Thus 
Eubulus,  in  a  court  of  justice,  employed  against  Chares, 
what  Plato  had  said  against  Archibius,  That  it  was  com- 
mon in  the  city  for  men  to  acknowledge  themselves  to  he 
depraved.     Those  also  are  recent  witnesses,  who  partake 
of  the  danger  [of  being  punished]  if  they  appear  to  have 
given  false  evidence.    Persons,  therefore,  of  this  descrip- 
tion  are  alone   witnesses  in  things   of  this  kind ;  viz. 
whether  the  thing  has  been  done  or  not ;  and  whether  it 
15,  or  not.     But  they  are  not  witnesses  concerning  the 
quality  of  the  thing ;  as,  whether  it  is  just  or  unjust, 
advantageous  or   disadvantageous.      Remote  witnesses, 
however,  are  most  worthy  of  belief  in  things  of  this 
kind ;  but  the  ancients  are  most  worthy  of  belief;  for 
they  cannot  be  corrupted.     The   credibility,   however, 
derived  from  witnesses  [is  to  be  employed  as  follows.J 


91 


;»: 


When,  indeed,  there  are  no  witnesses,  it  is  necessary  to 
judge  from  probabilities ;  and  this  it  is  to  employ  the  best 
decision.     Probabilities,  also,    cannot  be  corrupted   by 
money ;  and  they  are  not  condemned  for  giving  a  false 
testimony.     But  he  who  has  witnesses  ought  to  say  to 
him   that   has   not,   that   witnesses   may    be  tried   and 
punished,    but   probabilities  cannot.     [It  may    also   be 
added,]  that  there  would  be  no  occasion  for  witnesses,  if 
arguments  from  probabilities  were  sufficient.     Testimo- 
nies, however,  are  either  concerning  ourselves,  or  con- 
cerning  our  opponents ;  and  some,  indeed,  are  concerning 
the  thing  itself ;    but  others  concerning  the  manners  of 
persons.     Hence,  it  is  manifest  that  we  can  never  be  in 
want  of  useful  testimony  ;  for  if  the  testimony  does  not 
relate  to  the  thing,  it  wiH  either  be  favourable  to  the  de- 
fendant, or  adverse  to  the  plaintiff.     But  the  testimony 
respecting  manners,  will  either  evince  our  probity,  or  the 
depravity  of  our  opponent.     Other  particulars,  however, 
respecting  a  witness,  whether  he  be  a  friend,  or  an  enemy* 
or  neither,  whether  he  be  a  man  of  reputation,  or  an 
infamous  character,  or  neither,  and  whatever  other  differ- 
ences there  may  be  of  the  like  kind,  must  be  derived 
from  the  same  places  from  which  enthymemes  are  de- 
rived. 

With  respect  to  compacts,  an  oration  is  so  far  useful 
as  it  increases  or  diminishes  [their  authority ;]  or  so  for 
as  it  renders  them  credible,  or  unworthy  of  belief.  For 
it  is  favourable  to  the  speaker  to  show  that  the  compacts 
possess  credibility  and  authority ;  but  the  contrary  is 
favourable  to  the  opponent.  The  same  arguments, 
therefore,  are  to  be  employed  in  showing  that  compacts 


92 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  I. 


are  worthy  or  unworthy  of  belief,  as  we  have  employed 
in  the  affair  of  witnesses.     For  such  as  those  persons  are 
who  have  subscribed  and  signed  the   compacts,    [with 
respect  to  being  worthy  or  unworthy  of  belief,]   such 
also  are  the  compacts.     When,  however,  it  is  acknow- 
ledged  by  the  litigants  that  compacts  were  made,  if  this 
acknowledgement  ic  appropriate,   the  authority  of  the 
compacts  is  to  be  increased ;  for  a  compact  is  a  private 
law,  and  is  of  a  partial  nature.     And  compacts,  indeed, 
do  not  give  authority  to  the  law;    but  the  laws  give 
authority   to   legal  compacts.     And  in  short,   the   law 
Itself  is  a  certain  compact ;  so  that  he  who  disbelieves  in 
and  subverts   a   contract,   subverts  the   laws.     Farther 
still,  many  contracts  and  voluntary  transactions  are  effected 
by  compacts ;  so  that  if  compacts  lose  their  authority,  the 
intercourse  of  men  with  each  other  must  be  subverted. 
Other  things,  also,  which  are  adapted  to  the  confirmation  of 
compacts,  the  orator  will  perceive  by  himself.    But  if  the 
compacts  are  adverse  to  the  cause,  and  favourable  to  the  op- 
ponents,  in  the  first  place  those  are  adapted  to  the  purpose 
which  some  one  may  urge  to  invalidate  the  force  of  the 
contrary  law ;  for  it  is  absurd  that  we  should  think  laws 
are  not  to  be  obeyed,  which  have  not  been  established 
rightly  but  by  fraud,  and  that  we  should  not  think  it  neces- 
sary to  observe  compacts  [which  have  been  rightly  made.] 
In  the  next  place  it  must  be  said  that  a  judge  is  a  dispen- 
sator  of  what  is  just ;  and  therefore  that  his  attention  is 
not  to  be  directed  to  the  observance  of  the  compacts, 
but  to  that  which  is  more  just.     And  t^he  just  indeed  is 
not  to  be  perverted  either  by  fraud,  or  by  necessity  ;  for 
it  has  a  natural  subsistence  ;  but  compacts  are  made  both 
by  persons  who  are  deceived,  and  those  who  are  com- 


CHAP.  XVI. 


RHETORIC. 


93 


pelled.     In  addition  to  these  things,  also,  it  is  requisite  to 
consider  whether  the  compact  is  contrary  to  any  written 
or  common  law,  and  to  things  just  or  beautiful ;   and 
besides  this,  whether  it  is  contrary  to  any  posterior  or 
prior  contracts.     For  either  the  posterior  contracts  are 
binding,  but  the  prior  have  no  authority ;  or  the  prior 
are  right,    but  the  posterior   fallacious ;  and  thus   this 
contrariety  of  compacts  may  be  employed  with  advan- 
tage.    Again,  it  will  be  expedient  to  see  whether  the 
compacts  are  in  any  way  adverse  to  the  judges,  and  to 
direct  the  attention  to  other  things  of  the  like  kind ;  for 
these  things  may  in  a  similar  manner  be  easily   per- 
ceived.  *^ 


^  Examinations,  also,  and  torments  are  certain  testimo- 
nies ;  and  they  seem  to  possess  credibility,  because  a  cer- 
tain  necessity  is  present  with  them.      There  is  no  diffi- 
culty,  therefore,    in   perceiving   what   relates   to   these 
things,  and  mi  narrating  what  is  contingent  to  them ;  as 
also  in  discussmg  those  particulars,  which  if  they  'are 
adapted  to  our  purpose  we  may  amplify  [by  asserting] 
that  these  alone  are  true  testimonies.      But  if  they  are 
against  us,  and  favourable  to  our  opponent,  then  the  evi- 
dence may  be  invalidated  by  speaking  against  the  whole 
genus  of  examinations  and  torments.     For  men  tlyough 
compulsion   no  less   assert  what  is  false  than  what  is 
true ;    since  they  endure  in  order   that   they  may  not 
speak  the  truth,  and  readily  assert  what  is  false,  in  order 
that  they  may  be  more  swiftly  liberated  from  pain.     For 
collateral  confirmation,  also,  it  is  requisite  that  examples 
should    be   adduced,    with   which    the  judges    are  ac 
quainted. 


94 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  I. 


With  respect  to  oaths,  however,  there  is  a  fourfold 
consideration.     For  we  either  give  and  take  an  oath  ;  or 
we  do  neither.       Or  we  do  the  one,  but  not   the  other. 
And  of  these  either  an  oath  is  given,  but  not  taken  ;  or 
It   IS   taken,    but  not   given.      Again,    either    we  have 
sworn  before,  and  are  accused  by  our  opponent  of  per- 
jury, or  the  opponent   swears  and  is  accused   of  per- 
jury.    He  therefore  who  does  not  offer  an  oath  to  his 
opponent  []may  say]  that  men  are  easily  perjured ;  and 
that  his  opponent  if  he  should  take  an  oath,  would  not 
restore  the  money,  but  if  he  did  not  take  an  oath,  he 
should  think  the  judges  would  condemn  him.     He  may 
also  add,  that  as  the  affair  is  dangerous,  it  is  better  to 
commit  it  to  the  judges  ;  for  he  believes  in  them,  but 
not  in  his  opponent.     [He  likewise  who  does  not  take 
the  oath  which  is  offered  him,  may  say]  that  he  does  not 
take  it,  because  he  is  unwilling  to  swear   for   money; 
and  that  if  he  was  a  bad  man  he  would  take  an  oath ; 
fer  it  is  better  to  be  depraved  for  the  sake  of  something 
than  for  the  sake  of  nothing.     For  by  taking  an  oath  he 
will  obtain  money,  but  otherwise  not.     His  not  taking  an 
oath  therefore  will  be  the  effect  of  virtue,  and  will  not 
be  the  consequence  of  the  fear  of  perjury.     The  saying 
of  Xenophanes,  likewise,  may  be  adapted  to  this  affair, 
that  the  challenge  is  not  equal  of  an  impious  against  a 
pious  man,  but  is  just  as  if  a  strong  man  should  call 
upon  a  weak  man  to   fight  with  him.     He  also   who 
takes  an  oath  may  say  that  he  takes  it,  because  he  con- 
fides  in   himself,  but   not  in  his   opponent.      And  by 
inverting  the  assertion  of  Xenophanes  he  may  say,  that 
the  challenge  is  equal,  if  an  impious  man  offers,  but  a 
pious  man  takes  an  oath.     And  that  it  is  a  dreadful  thing 


CHAP.  XVI. 


RHETORIC. 


95 


he  should  not  be  willing  to  swear  respecting  those  things 
for  which  he  thinks  it  right  that  the  judges  should  pass 
sentence  on  those  that  take  an  oafh.     But  if  he  offers  an 
oath   he  may  say  that  it  is  pious  to  be  willing  to  commit 
the  affair  to  the  gods ;  and  that  there  is  no  occasion  ffor 
his  opponent]  to  require  any  other  judges ;  since  the  judg- 
ment  of  the  cause  is  committed  to  him  through  an  oath. 
We  may,  likewise,  say  that  it  is  absurd  that  his  opponent 
shoudnot  be  willing  to  swear  concerning  those  things 
about  which  he  requires  others  [i.  e.  the  judges]  to  swear, 
bmce  however,  the  manner  in  which  we  ought  to  speak 
according  to  each  [of  these  four  modes,]  is  evident,  it  is 
ikewise  evident  how  we  ought  to  speak  according  to 
these  modes  when  combined ;  as  for  instance,  if  a  man 
IS  willing  indeed  to  take,  but  not  to  give  an  oath;  or  if 
be  gives,  but  is  unwilling  to  take  it ;  or  if  he  is  willing 
both  to  give  and  take  it;  or  is    willing  to  do  neither 
l^or  a  combination  must  necessarily  be  made  from  the 
above-mentioned  modes;  so  that   arguments  also  must 
necessardy  be  composed  from  them.      If,  however,  any 
one  has  before  taken  an  oath,  and  which  is  contrary  fto 
the  present  oath,]  it  must  be  said  that  there  is  no  peHury. 
For  to  do  an  injury  is  a   voluntary  thing ;  but  thini 
which  are  done  by  violence  and  fraud  are  involuntary. 

muted  m  the  mmd,  and  not  in  the  mouth.  Bat  if  the 
opponent  has  before  sworn,  and  is  now  unwilling  to 
abide  by  his  oath,  it  must  be  said  that  he  subverts  all 
things  who  does  not  adhere  to  what  he  has  sworn  ;  for 
on  this  account,  also,  judges  that  have  taken  an  oath  use 
the  laws.  ^  And  [it  may  likewise  be  said  in  the  way  of 
amplification,]  shall  we  rejoice,  indeed,  that  you  judges 


96 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  I. 


should  abide  in  the  decision  which  you  have  made,  after 
taking  an  oath ;  and  shall  not  we  abide  in  the  oaths 
which  we  have  taken  ?  And  such  other  things  as  may  be 
said  for  the  purpose  of  amplification.  And  thus  much 
concerning  inartificial  credibility. 


TirE 


ART    OF   RHETORIC. 


BOOK  II. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Such,  therefore,  are  the  particulars  from  which  if ,, 
reqtusue  to  exhort  and  dissuade,  to  blame  and  pnut  to 
accuse  and  defend,  and  such  likewise  are  the  opE'and 
propos«.ons  wh,ch  are  useful  in  procuring  cre«;t 
these.  For  concernmg  these,  and  from  these  emhv 
memes  about  each  genus  of  options  are  pecuLly  St 

judgment  ffoTTl  ^'''''^T'  "^  '^  ^or  the  sake  of 
juagment  (tor  [the  auditors  of  orations!  iud^e  of  ^«n 

sultauons.  and  justice  is  judgment)  it  l  ^ZII^LT' 
^e  o.tor  should  not  only  dirL  his  attention TZ  ^ra 
tK>n,  so  as  to  cons  der  how  it  mav  h.  a  .  • 

^       ^^^^'  VOL.  I.  ^ 


98 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  II. 


CHAP.  J. 


RHETORIC. 


IS  of  great  consequence  in  procuring  belief,  especially 
indeed  in  counsels,  and  afterwards  in  judgments,  that 
the  speaker  should  appear  to  be  properly  qualified,  and 
that  he  should  be  well  affected  towards  the  auditors ;  and 
besides  this,  if  the  auditors  also  are  properly  disposed. 
That  the  speaker,  therefore,  should  appear  to  be  properly 
quaHfied,  is  more  useful  in  counsels  [than  in  judgments ;] 
but  for  the  hearer  to  be  well  disposed,  is  more  useful  in 
judgments.  For  the  same  things  do  not  appear  to  those 
that  love  and  hate,  nor  to  those  that  are  irascible  and 
those  that  are  mild ;  but  either  they  appear  entirely  dif- 
ferent, or  different  in  magnitude.  For  to  the  friend,  he 
concerning  whom  he  forms  the  judgment,  will  not  appear 
to  have  acted  unjustly,  or  will  appear  to  have  acted  so 
in  a  small  degree ;  but  to  him  who  hates,  the  contrary 
will  take  place.  And  to  him  who  desires,  and  is  in  good 
hope  [of  possessing  what  he  desires]  if  that  which  is  to 
come  is  pleasant,  it  also  appears  that  it  will  be,  and  that 
it  will  be  good ;  but  to  him  who  has  no  desire,  and  no 
expectation  of  a  thing,  the  contrary  will  take  place. 

There  are  three  causes,  therefore,  through  which 
men  become  worthy  of  belief;  for  so  many  are  the  things 
through  which  we  believe,  besides  demonstrations.  And 
these  are  prudence,  virtue  and  benevolence.  For  men 
are  false  in  what  they  say,  or  in  the  counsels  they  give, 
either  on  account  of  all  these,  or  on  account  of  some  one 
of  these.  For  either  they  do  not  think  rightly  through 
imprudence  ;  or  they  do  not  speak  what  appears  to  be 
tjrue,  in  consequence  of  their  depravity ;  or  they  are  pru- 
dent asd  worthy,  but  not  benevolent.  Hence,  it  hap- 
f>ens  that  those  do  not  give  the  best  counsels  who  know 
toow  to  give  them.  And  these  are  the  only  things  through 


99 

which  they  fail.  It  Js  necessary,  therefore,  that  he  who 
appears  to  possess  all  these,  should  be  conJidered  by  his 
auditors  as  worthy  of  belief.     Whence   thZf      ^ 

trom  the  divisions  of  the   virtues  •  fnr  f.  u 

worthy,  he  may  also  cause  another  to  become  so      Tnn 
cernmg  benevolence,  however,  and  friendTh  p "e  mu" 
now  speak,  m  discussing  what  pertains  to  thepasW 

But  the  passions  are  those  things,  on  account  of  which 
men  bemg  changed,  differ  in  their  judgments  Jd  to 
wh,ch  pleasure  and  pain  are  consequeit.  '  xTe  pa^nT 
therefore,  are  such  as  anger,  pity  fear  anH  n!h  fu-  ' 
of  this  tmH    o„j  .u  .^'       '  ^""  °^"^''  things 

or  tnis  kmd,  and  the  contraries  to  these. 

It  is  necessary,  however,  to  give  a  threefold  division 
to  the  particulars  about  each.  I  say,  for  instlnc" 
about  anger  Cwe  should  consider]  how  men  are  ZosS 
when  they  are  angry,  what  the  things  are  at  whkS 

Z  !""^^°T.V°  "^^  ^  W  ^"'^  -hat  the  qud  y  L  7f 
the  thmgs  wh.ch  are  the  subjects  of  their  anger.  '^For  if 
we  only  possess  a  knowledge  of  one  or  two'  but  noTof 

orsT  r;"  ''  "yr^'  ^°  --  Vein  tCau 
ditors J     And  m  a  similar  manner  in  the  other  passions 

fhe  same  {'/''"'"'''^  propositions,  we  shall  likewise  do 
^e  same  m  cons.dermg  the  passions,  and  divide  them 
atter  the  same  manner. 


100 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  II. 


CHAPlTiR  II. 


Let  anger,  therefore,  be  the  appetite  in  man  of  appa- 
rent  revenge  in  conjunction  with  pain,  in  consequence  of 
a  seeming  neglect  or  contempt  of  himself,  or  of  some 
one  belonging  to  him. 

If,  therefore,  anger  is  this,  it  is  necessary  that  he  who 
is  angry  should  always  be  angry  with  some  particular 
person  ;  as  for  instance,  with  Cleon,  but  not  with  man ; 
and  that  he  is  angry  because  Cleon  has  done  or  intended 
to  do  something  to  himself,  or  to  some  one  belonging  to 
him.  It  is  also  necessary  that  a  certain  pleasure  arising 
from  the  hope  of  revenge,  should  be  consequent  to  all 
anger.  For  it  is  pleasant  for  a  man  to  fancy  that  he  shall 
obtain  the  object  of  his  desire ;  but  no  one  aspires  after 
those  things  which  appear  to  him  to  be  impossible.  He 
who  is  angry,  however,  aspires  after  things  which  it  is 
possible  for  him  to  obtain.  Hence  it  is  well  said  [by 
Achilles'3  concerning  anger,  that. 

Anger  increases  in  the  mortal  breast, 
Sweeter  than  trickling  honey  to  the  taste. 

Foi  a  certjun  pleasure  is  consequent  to  anger  both  on- 

'  In  Iliad,  18. 


CHAP.  n. 


RHETORIC. 


101 


this  account,  and  because  the  thoughts  of  those  who  are 
angry  are  entirely  employed  on  revenge.     The  nhan 
tasy  therefore,  or  imagination  which  is  then  ingenerated 
in  the  soul,  produces  pleasure,  in  the  same  manner  as  the 
imagination  whicJi  is  ingenerated  in  dreams. 

that  which  appears  to  deserve  no  regard  ;  (for  we  con- 
ceive that  both  good  and  evil,  and  what  contributes  To 
hese  are  worthy  of  attention,  but  such  things  as  are  no- 
thing,  or  veiy  trifling,   we  conceive   to  be  of  no  worth 
whatever)-hence,  there  are  three  species  of  neglect,  viz 
contempt,  insolence  and  contumely.  For  that  which  men 
despise  they  neglect ;  since  they  despise  that  which  they 
conceive  to  be  of  no  worth ;  and  those  things  which  are 
of  no  worth  they  neglect.     He  also  who  insults  another 
person  appears  to  despise  him ;  for  insult  is  an  impedi- 
ment to  the  will  of  another  person,  not  that  he  who  offers 
the  insult  may  derive  a  certain  advantage  himself,  but 
Uiat  he  may  prevent  the  person  insulted  from  deriving  it 
Since,  therefore,  he  does  not  expect  to  derive  any  ad- 
vantage himself,  he  neglects  the  other  person.     For  it  is 
evident  that  he  does  not  apprehend  any  injury  will  accrue 
to  himself  from  the  insult ;  since  if  he  did,  he  would  be 
atraid,  and  would  not  neglect  [the  person  he  insults  :] 
nor  any  advantage  to  the  person  insulted,  which  deserves 
to  be  mentioned  ;  for  if  he  did,  he  would  be  anxious  to 
make  him  his  friend.     He,  also,  who  acts  contumeliously 
towards  another  neglects  him  ;  for  contumely  is  to  injure 
and  pain  another  person  in  those  things  in  which  shame 
befalls  the  sufferer,  and  this  not  that  any  thing  else  may      ' 
be  done  to  him  than  what  is  done,  but  that  he  may  re- 
ceive  pleasure  from  the  act.     For  those  who  return  an 


102 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  II 


mjury  do  not  act  contumeliously,  but  take  revenge. 
The  cause,  however,  of  pleasure  to  those  that  calumniate 
is  this,  that  they  fancy  they  excel  in  a  greater  degree  by 
acting  ill.  Hence,  young  men  and  those  that  are  rich 
are  contumelious ;  for  they  fancy  that  they  thus  acquire 
a  superiority  to  others.  But  ignominy  pertains  to  con- 
tumely ;  and  he  who  disgraces  another  neglects  him. 
For  that  which  is  of  no  worth,  has  no  honour  either  of 
evil  or  good.     Hence,  Achilles  when  angry  says, 


And, 


The  affront  my  honour  stains. 

While  he  my  valour's  guerdon  thus  detams.* 


Disgraced,  dishonour'd,  like  the  vilest  slave,* 


As  being  enraged  on  account  of  these  things.  Men  also 
think  it  fit  that  they  should  be  greatly  honoured  by  those 
who  are  inferior  to  them  in  birth,  in  power,  in  virtue, 
and  in  short,  in  that  in  which  they  very  much  excel 
another  person ;  as  for  instance,  the  rich  man  excels  the 
poor  man  in  money ;  the  rhetorician  excels  in  speaking 
him  who  is  unable  to  speak;  the  governor  him  who  is 
governed ;  and  he  who  fancies  himself  worthy  to  com- 
mand, him  who  deserves  to  be  commanded.  Hence,  it  is 
said. 


And, 


Great  is  the  wrath  of  Jove-descended  kings." 


For  tho'  we  deem  the  short-Iiv'd  fury  past, 
*Tis  sure  the  mighty  will  revenge  at  last.* 


'  IHad,  9. 
3  Iliad,  2. 


*  Iliad,  9. 

♦  IHad,  1. 


CH4P,  li. 


RHETORIC. 


lOS 


d^cv      MeT  ?l^^'  .°"  '"°""'  °^  ^h«'-  transcen- 
dency.    Men,  hkew.se,   think  that  they  oupht  to  be 

greatly  honoured  by  those  by  whom  any  one  sLw 
J«.k  they  ought  to  be  benefited;  but  thesl  aresu  r  s 
they  have  benefited,  or  do  benefit,  either  they  themX^ 
o  some  one  belonging  to  them,  or  such  as  t'hey  dotS^' 
or  have  wished  to  benefit.  ^  ' 

It  is  now  therefore  manifest  from  these  things  how 
men  are  d.sposed  when  they  are  angry,  and  with'whoj 
and  from  what  causes  they  are  angry.  For  they  aT^ 
angry,  mdeed  when  they  are  aggrieved!  For  he  who 
aggrieved  des.res  something ;  whether  he  is  aggneved 
by  any  opposuton  directly  made  against  him,  as^w^e^a 
man  ts  prevented  from  drinking  that  is  thirsty  ;  or  if  an 
opposuton  IS  not  directly  made  against  him!  yet  ir  an 

t'o' Wm'o    d  '""'""'^  -'  °^  '■'  ^"^  °"^  -'  -  "4 

to  him,  or  does  not  co-operate  with  him;  or  if  any  thin^ 

dse  disturbs  him  thus  disposed,-from  all  these  cir  urn' 

Unces  he  is  angry.     Hence  the  sick,  the  poor,  thoTe 

that  are  m  love,  those  that  are  thirsty,  and  in  shor  those 

that  desire  any  thing,  and  do  not  act  rightly,  are  disposS 

to  be  angry,  and  are  easily  provoked,  ^d  elpeciallT^^ 

those   that  neglect  their   present   condition.^  Thusl^r 

mstance.  the  sick  are  angry  with  those  that  neglect  thm 

m  things  pertaining  to  their  disease;    the   poor    wkh 

those    that    neglect  them  in  things  pertaining  to  7k2 

like  affair.;  and  lovers  with  those  that  neglect  them  in 
arnatory  concerns ;  and  in  a  similar  manner  in  othe^ 
thmgs  For  each  is  prepared  to  exercise  his  anger 
gainst  those  that  neglect  them,  by  the  inherent  passiL 
Farther  still,  men  are  likewise  disposed  to  be  angry  when 


104 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  11. 


things  happen  contrary  to  their  expectation.  For  that 
which  is  very  much  contrary  to  opinion  is  more  gnevousi 
just  as  what  is  very  much  contrary  to  opinion  produces 
dehght,  if  that  which  is  wished  for  is  accomplished. 
Hence,  also,  seasons  and  times,  and  dispositions  and  ages 
render  it  apparent  what  kind  of  persons  are  easily  dis- 
posed  to  anger,  and  when  and  where;  and  that  when 
they  are  most  in  these  circumstances,  they  are  most 
easily  excited  to  anger. 

Men,  likewise,  are  angry  with  those  that  laugh  at, 
deride  and  mock  them;  for  by  so  acting  they  insult 
them.     They  are  also   angr>-   with   those  that  offend 
Aem  in  such  things   as  are  indications  of  contumely. 
But  it  is  necessary  that  these  should  be  things  of  such  a 
kmd,  as  are  not  directed  to  any  other  end,  and  are  of  no 
advantage  to  those  that  do  them ;  for  they  appear  to  be 
done  solely  through  contumely.     Men  also  are  angry 
with  those  that  defame  and  despise  things  to  which  they 
are  most  devoted.     Thus  for  instance,  those  that  are 
ambitious  of  excelling   in   philosophy,  are  angry  with 
those  who  speak  contemptuously  of  philosophy ;  those 
who  pay  great  attention  to  the  form  and  beauty  of  the 
body,  are  angry  with  those  that  despise  it;    and   in  a 
similar  manner  in  other  things.     This  also  is  much  more 
the  case,  if  they  suspect  that  they  either  do  not  at  all  pos- 
sess these  things,  or  do  not  firmly  possess  them,  or  do 
not  appear  to  do  so.      But  when  they  fancy  they  very 
much  excel  in  those  things  for  which  they  are  reviled, 
they  pay  no  attention  to  the  scoffs  of  others.     Men  are 
likewise  angry  with  their  friends  more  than  with  those 
that  are  not  their  friends ;  for  they  think  it  is  more  pro- 
per that  they  should  be  benefited  by  them  than  not. 


CHAP.  II. 


RHETORIC. 


10.5 


They  are  also  angry  with  those  who  have  been  accus- 
tomed  to  honour,  or  pay  attention  to  them,  if  they  no 
longer  associate  with  them  as  formerly ;  for  they  fancy 
that  by  so  acting  they  are  despised  by  them.     They  are 
likewise  angry  with  those  that  do  not  return  the  kind 
ness  which  they  have  received,  nor  make  an  equal  re- 
compense;   and  also  with  those  who  act  contrary  to 
them,  if  they  are  their  inferiours ;  for  all  such  things 
appear  to  be  attended  with  contempt ;  the  one  indeed  as 
ot  mferiours,  but  the  other  as  by  inferiours.     They  are 
also  angry  in  a  greater  degree,  if  they  are  despised  by 
men   of  no  account ;    for  anger  was  supposed  by  us 
to  arise  from  undeserved  neglect  or  contempt ;  but  it  is 
fit  that  inferiours  should  not  despise  their  superiours 
Men  likewise  are  angry  with  their  friends  if  they  do  not 
speak  or  act  well,  and  still  more  so,  if  they  do  the  con- 
traries  to  these.     Also,  if  they  are  not  sensible  of  their 
wants ;  as  was  the  case  with  the  Plexippus  of  Antipho 
when  he  was  angry  with  Meleager ;  for  it  is  a  sign  of 
neglect  not  to  be  sensible  [of  the  wants  of  a  friend ;] 
since  those  things  are  not  concealed  from  us  to  which  we 
pay  attention.     They  are  likewise  angrv  with  those  that 
rejoice  in  their  misfortunes,  and  in  short  with  those  who 
are  not  at  all  concerned  when  they  are  in  adversity ;  for 
this  is  an  indication  either  of  hostility  or  neglect.     Also 
with  those  who  pay  no  attention  to  them  when  they  are 
aggrieved ;  on  which  account  they  are  angry  with  those 
who  are  the  messengers  of  evil.     And  likewise  with 
those  who  [willingly]  hear  or  see  their  maladies ;  for  in 
this  case,   such  persons  resemble  either  those  who  ne- 
glect them,  or  their  enemies.     For  friends  condole  [with 
their  fnends]  in  their  afflictions ;  and  all  men  grieve  on 
surveying  their  own  maladies.     They  are  Ukewise  angry 


106 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  IK 


With  five  kinds  of  persons  by  whom  they  are  neglected  ; 
with  those  with  whom   they  stand   in  competition  for 
honour ;  with  those  they  admire ;  with  those  by  whom 
they  wish  to  be  admired ;  with  those  whom  they  reve- 
rence ;    and  with  those  by  whom  they  are  reverenced. 
For  if  they  are  neglected  by  any  of  these,  they  are  in  a 
greater  degree  angry.     They  are  also  angry  with  those 
who  despise  them,  by  injuring  their  parents,  children, 
wives,  and  such  as  are  in  subjection  to  them,  and  whom 
it  would  be  disgraceful  in  them  not  to  assist.     Likewise 
with  those  that  are  ungrateful ;  for  neglect  or  contempt 
from  these  is  unbecoming.     They  are  also  angry  with 
such  as  employ  irony  and  dissimulation  towards  those 
who  are  seriously  employed ;  for  irony  pertains  to  con- 
tempt.    Likewise  with  those  that  benefit  others,  but  not 
themselves ;  for  this  also  indicates  contempt,  not  to  think 
a  man  deserving  of  that  which  all   other  persons  are 
thought  to  deserve.     Forgetfulness  also  is  productive  of 
anger,  as  for  instance,  of  names,  though  it  is  but  a  trifling 
thing.     For  forgetfulness  seems  to  be  an  indication  of 
neglect;    since  oblivion  is  produced  from  negligence; 
and  negligence  is  inattention.     And  thus  we  have  shown 
who  the  persons  are  by  whom  anger  is  excited,  how  they 
are  disposed,  and  from  what  causes  others  are  angry  with 
them.     It  is  likewise  evident  that  an  orator  ought   to 
frame  his  auditors  to  such  a  temper  as  they  are  in  when 
they  are  angry,  and  show  that  the  opponents  are  guilty  of 
those  things  which  excite  anger,  and  that  they  are  such 
persons  as  men  are  accustomed  to  be  angry  with. 


aiMat«ia->  mhi/i.-va'atJu&M^-jijaa.Uiiii.i:^  .3i!i*:jjj»'.'-«ifc,aMagaMi3'8waMsa!'.-s>  .wj- A'j8-iir<i}'SiKT<aaJ>!iiiiillitt!ia»BS'j 


CHAP.  Ill, 


RHETORIC 


107 


CHAPTER  IIL 


Since,  however,  the  being  angry  is  contrary  to  the 
being  placable,  and  anger  is  contrary  to  placability,  the 
disposition  of  those  that  are  placable  must  be  considered, 
who  those  persons  are  to  whom  they  conduct  themselves 
with  placability,  and  through  what  causes  they  become 
so.  Let  placability  then  be  a  remission  and  suppression 
of  anger. 

If,  therefore,  men  are  angry  with  those  that  neglect 
them,  but  neglect  is  a  voluntary  thing,  it  is  evident  that 
they  will  be  placable  to  those  who  do  none  of  these 
things,  or  do  them  unwillingly,  or  appear  not  to  have 
done  them  voluntarily.     They  will  likewise  be  placably 
to  those  who  wish  to  have  done  the  contrary  to  what  they 
have  done.     And  also  to  those  who  are  such  towards 
themselves,   as  they   are   towards  others;  for  no   one 
appears  to   neglect  himself.     Likewise,   to   those  who 
acknowledge  [their  faults,]  and  repent  of  them.     For 
considering  the  pain  which  they  feel  as  a  punishment 
for  what  they  have  done,  they  cease  to  be  angry.     But 
this  is  evident  from  what  takes  place  in  punishing  ser- 
vants ;  for  we  punish  in  a  greater  degree  such  of  them 
as  deny  [the  fault,]  and  contradict  us ;  but  we  cease  to 
be  angry  with  such  of  them  as  acknowledge  they  are 


108 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK    II. 


punished  justly.     The  cause,  however,  of  this  is  that  it 
is  impudence  to  deny  what  is  manifest ;  and  impudence 
is  neglect  and  contempt.     We  feel  no  shame,  therefore, 
towards  those  whom  we  very  much  despise.     Men  are 
placable  likewise  to  those  who  humble  themselves  to- 
wards them,  and  do  not  contradict  them  ;  for  thus  they 
appear  to  acknowledge  that  they  are  inferior  to  them  j 
but  those  that  are  inferior  are  afraid;  and  no  one  who  is 
afraid  is  negligent.     But  that  anger  ceases  towards  those 
who  humble  themselves,  is  evident  from  dogs  who  do  not 
bite  those  that  prostrate  themselves.    Men  also  are  placa- 
ble to  those  that  act  seriously,  when  they  are   acting 
seriously  themselves;  for  thus  they  appear  to  be  thought 
by  them  worthy  of  attention,  and  not  to  be  despised^. 
Likewise  to  those  who  [if  they  have  injured  them  in  any 
respect,  are  afterwards]  more  grateful  to  them.     Also  to 
those  that  beg  and  intreat ;  for  such  persons  are  more 
humble.     And   to   those,  that  are  neither  contumelious, 
nor  scoffers,  nor  neglectful,  either  of  any  person,  or  at 
least  not  of  the  worthy,  or  of  such  as  they  themselves 
are.     And  in  short,  men  become  placable  from  causes 
contrary  to  those  which  excite  to  anger.     They  are  like- 
wise placable  to  those  whom  they  fear,  and  reverence  • 
for  so  long  as  they  are  thus  disposed  towards  them  they 
are  not  angry  with  them.     For  it  is  impossible  at  one 
and  the  same  time  to  be  angry  with  and  afraid  of  a  man. 
With  those  also  who  have  done  any  thing  through  anger, 
they  are  either  not  angry,  or  they  are  angry  in  a  less  de- 
gree; for  such  persons  do  not  appear  to  have  acted  from 
neglect ;  since  no  one  who  is  angry  is  neglectful.     For 
neglect  is  unattended  with  pain ;  but  anger  is  accom- 
panied  with  pain.     They  are  likewise  placable  to  those 


CHAP.  in. 


that 


RHETORIC. 


109 


temper'  """"'  ^''"''''  ''''''""  '^  '^""^'^^  '°  <^on. 

4 

J. 

It  is  also  evident  that  men  are  placable  vvhen  they  are 
n  a  disposmon  contrary  to  anger;  as  when  they  aJel 
sport,  when  they  are  laughing,  when  they  are  at  a  festival 
when  they  are  successful,  when  they  perform  any  bS 
happ-ly,  when  they  are  full ;  and  iisW.  when  the"" 
without  pam,  experience  a  pleasure  unattended  with  indo 
lence,  and  are  in  good  hope.     They  are  likewise  placa- 
ble  to  those  by  whom  they  have  not  been  molested  for  a 
Jong  time,  and  through  whom  they  have  not  been  ex- 
cited to  recent  anger;  for  time  appeases  anger.     Venge- 
ance also  formerly  inflicted  on  another  person,  has  the 
power  of  appeasing  a  greater  anger  conceived  against 
some  one.     Hence,  Philocrates  answered  well,  when  a 
certain  person  said,  the  people  being  enraged,  why  do 
you  not   defend  yourself?  He  replied,   not  yet.     But 
when  will  you?  When  I  see  another  person  condemned. 
For  men  become  placable,  when  they  have  consumed 
their  anger  upon  another  person ;  as  it  happened  to 
J^rgophilus ;  whom  the  people  absolved,   though    they 
were  more  enraged  against  him  than  against  Callisthenes, 
whom  the   day  before  they  had  condemned  to  death. 
Men  also  are  placable  towards  those  whom  they  have 
convicted.     And  likewise  when  they  see  those  that  are 
angry  suffering  a  greater  evil  from  their  anger  than  they 
occasioned  to  others;  for  they  conceive  that  such  a  one 
IS  punished  for  his  anger.     Also  if  they  think  that  they 
themselves  have  acted  unjustly  and  suffer  justly ;  for 
anger  is  not  excited  against  that  which  is  just ;  since  in  . 
this  case  they  do  not  any  longer  fancy  that  they  suffer 
undeservedly.    But  anger  was  said  by  us  to  be  this,  [viz 


.A       W*.      -A    J 


110 


THli    ART    OF 


BOOK  11. 


to  arise  from  a  conception  of  unmerited   contempt.] 
Hence,    it   is  necessary  that   offenders  should   first  be 
punished  by  words ;  for  slaves  also  when  thus  punished 
are  less  indignant.     Those  likewise   are   placable  who 
conceive  that  the  persons  on  whom  they  inflict  punish- 
ment will  not  perceive  that  they  are  punished  by  them. 
For  anger  is  excited  against  individuals,  as  is  evident 
from  its  definition.     Hence,  Ulysses  [in  his  speech  to 
Polyphemus]  rightly  calls  himself  Ulysses  the  subvertor 
of  cities  ;  as  if  he  could  not  have  avenged  [the  injuries 
of  Polyphemus]  unless  he  made  him  sensible  who  it  was 
that  inflicted  the  vengeance,  and  for  what  it  was  inflicted. 
It  follows,  therefore,  that  we  are  not  angry  with  those 
tJiat  are  not  sensible ;  nor  any  longer  with  those  that 
are  dead,  because  [we  fancy]  they  have  suffered  the  ex* 
tremity  of  evils,  and  will  not  be  pained  by,  or  sensible 
of  our  revenge,  which  is  the  object  of  desire  of  those 
that  are  angry.    Hence  it  is  well  said  by  the  poet  respect- 
ing   Hector,    who   wished  that  the  anger  of  Achilles 
towards  him  might  cease  when  he  was  dead, 

On  the  deaf  earth  his  rage  was  spent  in  vain. 

It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  those  who  wish  to  render 
others  placable  must  derive  their  arguments  from  these 
places.  For  those  whose  anger  is  to  be  appeased,  must 
be  rendered  such  persons  as  we>ave  described;  but 
ttiose  persons  with  whom  others  are  angry  must  be  shown 
[by  the  orator]  to  be  such  as  are  to  be  feared,  or  that 
they  are  worthy  of  reverence,  or  that  they  have  deserved 
well  of  them,  or  that  they  injured  them  unwillingly, 
or  that  they  are  very  much  grieved  for  what  they  have 
done. 


CHAP.  IV. 


RHETORIC. 


Ill 


CHAPTER  IV. 


Let  us  now  show  who  those  persons  are  that  are  the 
objects  of  love  and  hatred,  and  why  they  are  so,  defining 
for  this  purpose  what  friendship  is,  and  friendly  love 
Let,  therefore,  friendly  love  be  defined  to  be,  the  wish 
^  such  ,htag,  as  .„  conceived  ,o  be  g»d  „',;  ^t 
he  lot  of  some  one  for  his  own  sake,  and  not  for  the 

of  hi^     r  7      ^"T  '^'  ^''^'  "^^  ^'^^  '^^  endeavour 
of  him  who  forms  the  wish  to  procure  such  good  to  the 

utmost  of  his  power.  But  he  is  a  friend  whf  loves,  ^d 
^  reciprocally  beloved  ;  and  those  persons  conceive  them- 
selves  to  be  friends,  who  think  they  are  thus  disposS 
towards  each  other.  disposed 

These  things,  therefore,  being  supposed,  it  is  necessary 
that  a  fnend  should  be  one  who  reciprocally  rejoices  Z 
the  good  which  befals  another  person,  and  is  naturally 
pained  when  that  person  is  aggrieved,  and  this  not  on 
account  of  any  thing  else,  but  on  account  of  the  person 
himself.    For  all  men  rejoice  when  they  obtain  the  object 
of  their  wishes,  but  are  aggrieved  if  the  conti^ry  takes 
place ;  so  that  pains  and  pleasures  are  an  indication  of 
[good  and  bad]  wishes.     Those  likewise  are  friends  to 
each  other   to  whom  the  same  things  are  good  and  eviL 
And  also  those  who  are  friends  and  enemies  to  the  same 


112 


THli  ART  OF 


SOOK  it. 


persons  and  things  ;  for  these  must  necessarily  wish  the 
same  things ;  so  that  he  who  wishes  the  same  things  to 
another  as  to  himself,  appears  to  be  a  friend  to  that 
person. 

Men  also  love  those  that  have  either  benefited  them, 
or  those  that  are  under  their  care ;  or  if  their  kindness 
to  them  has  been  great,  or  has  been  cheerfully  exerted^ 
or  seasonably,  and  for  their  own  sake  ;  and  also  such  as 
they  think  are  willing  to  benefit  others.     They  likewise 
love  the  friends  of  their  friends,  and  those  that  love  the 
same  persons  that  they  love,  and  who  are  beloved  by 
those  who  are  beloved  by  them ;  who  are  likewise  ene- 
mies to  those  to  whom  they  are  enemies,  and  who  hate 
those  whom  they  hate,  and  are  hated  by  those  who  are 
hated  by  them.     For  the  same  things  appear  to  be  good 
to .  all  these,  and  to  themselves ;  so  that  they  wish  the 
same  good  to  them  as  to  themselves;   which  was  the 
definition  of  a  friend.     Farther  still,  men  love  those  who 
are  beneficent  to  them  in  pecuniary  affairs,   and  in  those 
things  which  regard  their  safety.     Hence  they  honour 
liberal,  brave,  and  just  men  ;  and  they  consider  those  to 
be  such  who  do  not  live  on  the  property  of  others. 
But  men  of  this  description  are  those  that  live  by  th^ir 
own  labour;   and  among  these  are  those  that  live  by 
agriculture,  and  of  others,  especially  manual  artificers. 
They  also  love  those  that  are  temperate,  because  they  are 
not  unjust ;  and  for  the  same  reason  they  love  those  that 
lead  a  quiet  life  unmolested  by  business.     We  likewise 
love  those  to  whom  we  wish  to  be  friends,  if  they  ap- 
pear  to  wish  to  be  our  friends.     But  men  of  this  de- 
scription  are  such  as  are  good  according  to  virtue,  and 
are  celebrated  either  by  all  men,  or  by  the  best  of  men. 


CHAP.  IV. 


RHETORIC. 


113 

or  by  those  who  are  admired  bv  us    or  hv  .f,  ,^ 

admire  us.     Farther  .till  i  ^   !'        ^^  ^^"^  ^^^ 

Partner  stiJl,  men  Jove  those  who  are  aor^ 

able  companions  and  with  whom  they  can  pa^  the  Z' 

ingenuous,  who  do  not  reprove  the  f^uho  r.f      ,  '''^ 

are  not  studious  of  contemiorno:  I^rt    fof  I,?'  "k' 
persons  are  pugnacious ;   and  thoseThara  *  '"'^ 

ypear  to  .,H  things  contrary  r^:;L7^ 
iney  likewise  love  those  that  have  eU^r.^  menas. 

who  can  give  and  take  a  jt ;   forh^^t'T"'  "' 
striveto  h.  facetiou,  as  wi„  LJ  Zl^:^  ^T::  ^ 

se  ves     Th     T      ''  "'  "^'^  ^°  '■^»  '^'S^^^h  them. 

whlh  J  ^^    '°  '''"'  '^°''  *'^°  P^-«^  the  good  thinl 
which  they  enjoy,  and  especially  such  among  S! 

hfe.  Also  those,  who  neither  reprobate  the  fault,  IZ 
muted  by  others,  nor  the  benefits  conferred  on  he- 
for  both  are  attended  with  defamation.     They  liW 

Frsuch  as  i:t  •  1  f  "^'  '"'  "^  ^'y  --"-led. 

tWnk  th.v     n7u  '^"y  ''"  '^^"'^^  °tJ^^«.  they  also 

hmk  they  will  be  towards  themselves.     They  like^ 

love  those  that  are  not  addicted  to  slander  ^d^ 

orlr  1!;^'"  °"'I  '^''  '''-  °^  theirUhbour 

eho^  t";t  do  not  '  T  ''''  •"  ''^•■^  •"-"-  AJ- 
tnose  that  do  not  resist  them  when  they  are  angry    or 

^riously  employed  ;  for  such  like  persons  are  puZcC 
L.kewise  those  that  are  seriously  dispo^d  to,^rS  Se^ 
as  for  instance,  such  as  admire  them;  consider  thm  to 

117£L  \  "'  t  •"^'^^'  ""'^  ''^^  ^  ^'  -  4  "ally 
thus  ^ffe   ed  m  things  in  which  they  the^selveT  p^ 

"^^^^^  VOL.  X.  ^ 


114 


THE    ART    OF 


Book  il 


CHAP.  V. 


cularly  wish  to  be  admired,  or  to  appear  to  be  worthy, 
or  pleasant  persons.  Men  also  love  those  that  resemble 
themselves,  and  are  engaged  in  the  same  pursuits,  pro- 
vided they  are  no  impediment  to  them,  and  their  subsist- 
ence is  not  derived  from  the  same  profession.  For  thus 
[what  Hesiod  says]  will  take  place,  viz.  that  the  potter 
envies  the  potter.  They  likewise  love  those  who  desire 
things  of  which  it  is  at  the  same  time  possible  for  them 
to  be  partakers  ;  for  if  not,  the  same  thing  [which  we 
have  just  noticed]  will  thus  happen.  They  also  love 
those  towards  whom  they  are  so  disposed  as  not  to  be 
ashamed  of  things  which  are  base  only  according  to  opi- 
nion, and  towards  whom  they  are  ashamed  of  things 
which  are  in  reality  base.  And  likewise  those  by  whom 
they  are  ambitious  to  be  honoured,  or  by  whom  they 
wish  to  be  emulated,  and  not  to  be  envied  ;  for  these 
they  either  love,  or  wish  to  be  their  friends.  They  like- 
wise love  those  with  whom  they  co-operate  in  the  acqui- 
sition of  some  good,  lest  greater  evil  should  hereafter 
befal  themselves.  And  also  those  who  similarly  love 
their  friends  when  absent  and  present  -,  on  which  account 
all  men  love  those  who  are  thus  disposed  towards  the 
dead.  And  in  short,  they  love  those  who  very  much 
love  their  friends,  and  do  not  forsake  them ;  for  among 
the  number  of  good  men,  they  especially  love  those  who 
are  good  in  what  relates  to  friendship.  They  likewise 
love  those  who  do  not  act  with  dissimulation  towards 
them ;  but  men  of  this  description  are  such  as  are  not 
ashamed  to  speak  of  their  own  defects.  For  we  have 
already  observed  that  towards  friends,  we  should  be 
ashamed  of  things  which  relate  to  opinion,  \u  e.  which 
afe  base  in  opinion  only,  and  not  in  reality.]  If,  there- 
fore, he  who  is  ashamed  has  not  friendly  Igve,  he  who 


RHETORIC. 


kind.  Beneficence  L  e.S  ,™„*  lUe  '  '*' 
>s  productive  of  frienfl«h;„  ,     i      "^^""^  another  person 

they  are  bestowel  F^rThXetcT^rr  ^'^^" 
have  been  exerted  for  the  sake  of  the Xnd  n7'"  '" 
any  other  account.  '  ^"'^  "°*  "" 


;     CHAPTER  V. 

an.r,  in,,  ^^  oT^edr^S X^f  ^ 

s.hTl^"'"^"""'  ''''''  ^'■°™  -'^^^  pertains  to  our- 
selves, butenmny  may  exist  independent  of  what  has 
reference  to  ourselves      Fnr  if  •  ^® 

aner^nnnfo       !•    J    ^"'^ '^  ^^  conceive  a  man  to  be 
person  of  a  certam  description,  we  hate  him. 

cultleX'  'Tff'-'  '^"'^^  ^^'•^"^^  ^'^-^'^^  P-'- 
persons,  a.  for  mstancc,  towards  Callias,  or  So- 


i: 


116 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK   II. 


crates  ;  but  hatred  is  also  exerted  towards  genera  them- 
selves. For  every  man  hates  a  thief  and  a  sycophant. 
And  anger  indeed  may  be  cured  by  time ;  but  hatred  is 
incurable.  The  former,  also,  desires  to  give  pain  ;  but 
the  latter  is  more  desirous  to  do  harm.  For  he  who 
is  angry,  wishes  [that  he  with  whom  he  is  angry]  may 
be  sensible  of  pain  ;  but  with  him  who  hates  this  is  of 
no  consequence.  All  painful  things,  however,  are  objects 
of  sensation  ;  but  those  things  which  are  especially  evils, 
viz.  injustice  and  folly,  are  in  the  smallest  degree  objects 
of  sensation ;  for  the  presence  of  vice  is  attended  with 
no  paiii.  And  anger,  indeed,  is  accompanied  with  pain ; 
but  hatred  is  not ;  for  he  who  is  angry  is  pained  j  but  he 
who  hates  feels  no  pain. 

And  the  angry  man,  indeed,  pities  the  subject  of  his 
anger,  if  many  evils  befal  him ;  but  he  who  hates,  feels 
no  commiseration  for  the  object  of  his  hatred.  For  the 
former  wishes  that  he  with  whom  he  is  angry  may  reci- 
procally suffer  what  he  feels  ;  but  the  latter  wishes  that 
the  object  of  his  hatred  may  no  longer  exist.  From 
these  things,  therefore,  it  is  evident,  that  it  is  possible 
[for  an  orator]  to  show  who  those  are  that  are  really 
enemies  and  friends,  and  to  make  those  to  be  such  who  are 
not  so.  He  may  also  dissolve  the  arguments  by  which 
his  opponent  endeavours  to  show  that  some  persons  are 
mutually  friends  or  enemies;  and  that  when  it  is  dubious 
whether  a  thing  was  done  from  anger,  or  from  enmity, 
.  he  may  persuade  the  adoption  of  that  part  which  some 
one  may  have  deliberately  chosen. 


CHAP.  VI. 


RHETORIC. 


117 


CHAPTER  VI. 


What  kind  of  things  are  the  objects  of  fear,  and 
how  those  that  are  terrified  are  affected,  will  be  evident 
from  what  follows.  Let  fear,  therefore,  be  a  certain 
pain  or  perturbation  arising  from  the  imagination  of  some 
future  evil,  which  is  either  of  a  destructive  nature,  or 
attended  with  molestation.  For  not  all  evils  are  the 
objects  of  fear ;  such  for  instance,  as  injustice  or  slow- 
ness ;  but  such  as  are  capable  of  producing  great  moles- 
tation  or  destruction  ;  and  these,  when  they  are  not  re- 
mote,  but  seem  to  be  near,  so  as  to  be  imminent.  For 
thmgs  which  are  very  remote  are  not  the  objects  of  fear ; 
since  all  men  know  that  they  shall  die,  yet  because  death 
IS  not  near,  they  pay  no  attention  to  it. 

If,  however,  fear  is  this,  it  is  necessary  that  such  things 
should  be  terrible  as  appear  to  possess  a  great  power  of 
destroying,  or  are  productive  of  such  harm  as  is  attended 
with  great  molestation.  Hence,  also,  the  indications  of 
thmgs  of  this  kind  are  terrible ;  for  the  object  of  fear 
seems  to  be  near.  For  danger  is  this,  viz.  the  approxi^ 
mation  of  that  which  is  terrible.  Things  of  this  kind, 
however,  are  the  enmity  and  anger  of  those  who  are  able 
to  effect  something ;  for  it  is  evident  that  they  are  both 
willing  and  able  5  so  that  they  are  near  to  acting  [what 


118 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  II. 


CHAP.  VI. 


RHETORIC. 


119 


their  enmity  and  anger  may  suggest.]  Injustice,  also, 
when  it  possesses  power  is  the  object  of  fear ;  for  the 
unjust  man  is  unjust  from  deliberate  choice.  Virtue, 
likewise,  when  insulted  and  possessing  power  is  to  be 
feared  ;  for  it  is  evident  that  vengeance,  when  it  is  in- 
sulted, is  always  the  object  of  its  deliberate  choice ;  but 
now  it  possesses  power.  The  fear,  also,  of  those  who  are 
able  to  effect  something  is  the  object  of  terror ;  for  such 
a  one  must  necessarily  be  in  preparation  [for  that  which 
he  dreads.]] 

Since,  however,  the  multitude  are  depraved,  are  van- 
quished by  gain,  and  are  timid  in  dangers,  to  be  in  the 
power  of  another  person  is  a  thing  for  the  most  part  to 
be  feared.     Hence,  those  who  have  been  eye-witnesses 
of  any  dreadful  deed  that  has  been  perpetrated,  are  to 
be  feared,  lest  they  should  divulge  it,  or  desert  [him  by 
whom  it  was  committed.]     Those,   likewise,  who  are 
able  to  do  an  injury,  are  always  to  be  feared  by  those 
who  are  capable  of  being  injured  ;  for  men  for  the  most 
part  act  unjustly  when  they  are  able.     Those  also  are  to 
be  feared  who  either  have  suffered  an  injury,   or  think 
that  they  have ;  for  they  always  watch  for  an  opportu- 
nity [of  retaliating.]     Those  too  are  to  be  dreaded  who 
would  do  an  injury  if  they  had  the  power ;  for  they  are 
afraid  of  retaliation ;  and  it  was  supposed  that  a  thing 
of  this  kind  is  the  object  of  dread.     Those,  likewise,  are 
to  be  feared  who  are  competitors  for  the  same  things, 
and  which  both  cannot  at  one  and  the  same  time  possess; 
for  between  men  of  this  description  there  is  always  hosti- 
lity.    Those  also  who   are  objects  of  dread   to  more 
powerful  men,  are  to  be  feared  by  us ;  for  they  are  more 
able  to  injure  us  than  they  are  to  injure  the  more  power- 


ful.     For  the  same  reason  those  persons  are  to  be  feared 
who  are  dreaded  by  men  more  powerful  than  themselves; 
and  also  those  who  have  destroyed  men  superior  to  them- 
selves  in   power;  and  those  who   have  attacked  men 
mferior  to  themselves ;  for  either  they  are  now  to  be 
dreaded,  or   when  their  power  is   increased.     Among 
those   that   have   been    injured,    likewise,   and    among 
enemies  and  opponents,  such  as  are  to  be  dreaded,  are 
not  those  that  are  hasty  and  choleric,  and  who  speak 
their  mind  freely,  but  those  that  are  mild,  who  dissem- 
ble,  and  are  crafty  ;  for  [what  they  are  machinating]  is 
obscure,    or  nearly  so;    and   hence   their  designs  are 
never  manifest,  because  they  are  remote  [from  observa- 
tion.] 

With  respect  however  to  every  thing  that  is  dreadful, 
such  things  are  more  to  be  feared,  the  errors  pertaining 
to  which  cannot  be  corrected ;  but  it  is  either  wholly 
impossible  to  correct  them,  or  they  cannot  be  corrected 
by  those  that  have  committed  them,  but  by  their  adver- 
saries.^  Those  things  also  are  to  be  feared  for  which 
there  is  no  help,  or  in  which  assistance  cannot  easily  be 
obtained.  And  in  short  those  things  are  to  be  feared 
which  when  they  do  or  shall  happen  to  others,  are 
lamentable  in  their  consequences.  With  respect  to  things 
which  are  to  be  feared,  and  which  are  dreaded  by  men, 
these,  as  I  may  say,  are  nearly  the  greatest. 

Let  us  now  show  the  manner  in  which  men  are  affected 
when  they  are  afraid.  If,  therefore,  fear  is  attended  with 
the  expectation  of  suffering  some  destructive  evil,  it  is 
evident  that  no  one  is  afraid  who  thinks  that  he  shall  not 
suffer  any  evil,  and  that  no  one  dreads  those  things  which 


il 


»Btt!gt;aa'»{litoitVg«aaii8Wlt'B-  ■8afaJSa;8H!aa<«-Jfc-rfaiar-J-»MMWa<>».« 


120 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK    II. 


he  does  not  think  he  shall  suffer,   or   those  persons 
through  whom  he  does  not  imagine  he  shall  suffer,  nor 
then  when  he  does  not  suspect  [any  evil  to  be  imminent.] 
Hence,  it  is  necessary  that  those  persons  should  be  afraid 
who  imagine  they  shall  suffer  some  evil,  and  from  such 
persons,  and  in  such  things,  and  at  such  a  time.    Neither, 
however,  those  who  are  in  very  prosperous  circumstances, 
and  appear  to  be  so  to  themselves,  imagine  they  shall 
suffer  any  evil;  (on  which  account  such  men  are  insolent, 
neglectful  and  audacious;  and  riches,  strength,  a  multi- 
tude of  friends,  and  power,  produce  such  men)  nor  those 
who  think  that  they  have  now  suffered  dreadfully,  and 
whose  hopes  with  respect  to  futurity  are  extinct,  as  is  the 
case  with  those  who  are  led  to  capital  punishment.     But 
it  is  necessary  [where  there  is  fear]  that  there  should  be 
some  hope  of  safety,  and  of  escaping  the  evils  which 
occasion  their  anxiety ;  of  which  this  is  an  indication, 
that  fear  makes  men  disposed  to  receive  counsel,  though 
no  one  consults  about  things  that  are  hopeless.     Hence, 
when  it  is  necessary  that  the  orator  should  excite  fear  in 
his  auditors,  he  must  show  them  that  they  are  such  per- 
sons as  may  suffer  [many]  evils,  because  others  greater 
than  them  have  suffered  them.     He  must  also  show  that 
men  similar  to  themselyes  suffer  or  have  suffered  many 
evils,  from  those  through  whom  they  did  not  expect  to 
suffer,  and  that  they  have  suffered  these  evils  and  then 
when  they  did  not  imagine  they  should. 


CHAP.  vir. 


RHETORIC. 


121 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Since,  however,  with  respect  to  fear,  it  is  evident 
what  It  IS,  and  it  is  also  evident  what  the  objects  of  terror 
are,  and  how  men  are  affected  when  they  are  afraid,  it 
IB  hkew.se  manifest  from  these  things  what  confidence 
K.  what  the  kind  of  things  are  in  which  men  confide 
and  how  confident  men  are  disposed.  For  confidence 
IS  contrary  to  fear,  and  that  which  is  the  object  of  con- 
fidence  to  that  which  is  the  object  of  dread.  Hence 
cmjidence  ts  a  hope  attended  mth  imagination,  that  thoil 
tfmgs  xvhch  may  be  salutary  to  us  are  near  at  hand,  but 
that  those  thmgs  which  are  tlie  octets  of  our  dread,  either 
do  not  eaist,  or  are  remote. 

But  the  things  which  are  effective  of  confidence  are 
events  of  a  dreadful  nature,  if  they  are  remote,  and  such 
as  may  be  confided  in  if  they  are  near.  Evils  also  which 
are  imminent,  if  they  may  be  corrected  produce  confi- 
dence  ;  and  this  is  likewise  the  case  when  many  or  great 
auxiliaries,  or  both  these,  against  evils,  are  present. 

Confidence  also  is  produced,  when  there  are  neither 
any  persons  who  have  been  injured  by  us,  nor  who  have 
injured  us.  And  when  either,  in  short,  we  have  no  anta- 
gonists, or  they  have  no  power,  or  if  they  have  power 


122 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  II. 


they  are  our  friends,  or  have  received  benefits  from,  or 
have  conferred  benefits  on  us.  Confidence  likewise  is 
produced,  when  those  to  whom  the  same  things  are 
advantageous  as  are  beneficial  to  us  are  many,  or  superior 
to  us,  or  both  these. 


Those,  however,  that  are  confident  in  dangers  are 
such  as  think  they  can  accomplish  with  rectitude  many 
things,  without   suffering  any  evil ;    or   who,   if  they 
frequently  fall  into  great  dangers,  escape  from  them. 
For  men  become  void  of  perturbation  in  dangers  in  a 
twofold  respect,  either  because  they  have  not  experienced 
them  before,  or  because  they  have  auxiliaries  through 
which  they  may  escape  from  them.    For  thus  in  dangers 
at  sea,  those  who  are  unexperienced  in  its  storms  are 
confident  they  shall  escape  them ;  and  also  those  who 
have   assistance   in   themselves  from   their   experience. 
Confidence  likewise  is  produced  when  there  is  nothing 
to  be  feared  from  either  our  equals  or  inferiors,  and  those 
to  whom  we  imagine  ourselves  to  be  superior.     But  we 
imagine  ourselves  to  be  superior  to  those  whom  we  have 
either  themselves  vanquished,  or  those  that  are  superior 
to,  or  resemble  them.     Men  also  are  confident,  if  they 
think  those  things  are  present  with  them  in  a  greater 
number,  and  in  a  greater  degree,  for  which  those  who 
excel  others  are  the  objects  of  dread  ;  and  these  are,  an 
abundance  of  riches,   strength   of  body,   of  friends,  of 
country,  of  warlike  apparatus,  and  either  of  all,  or  of 
the  greatest  of  these.     They  are  likewise  confident  if 
they  have  injured  either  no  one,  or  not  many,  or  not 
such  as  are  the  objects  of  fear.     And  in   short,  if  they 
are  well  disposed  with  reference  to  what  pertains  to  the 
gods,  both  as  to  other  things,  and  to  what  is  indicated  by 


CHAP.  VIII. 


RHETORIC. 


123 


signs  and  oracles.  For  anger  is  attended  with  confi. 
dence  ;  and  not  to  injure,  but  to  be  injured,  is  effective  of 
anger ;  but  divinity  is  conceived  to  give  assistance  to 
those  that  are  injured.  Men  also  are  confident,  when 
either  having  first  attacked  others,  they  neither  do  nor 
are  likely  to  suffer  any  evil,  or  think  that  in  so  doiW 
they  have  acted  rightly.  And  thus  much  concerning 
things  which  are  the  objects  of  fear  and  confidence 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


What  kind  of  things,  however,  those  are  which  are 
the  objects  of  shame,  and  also  those  for  which  men  are 
not  ashamed,  and  towards  what  persons  they  are  ashamed, 
and  how  they  are  disposed^when  under  the  influence  of 
this  passion,]  will  be  evident  from  what  follows.  But 
let  sJiame  be  a  certain  pain  and  perturbation  with  respect 
to  evils  either  present,  or  past,  or  future,  which  appa^ 
rently  lead  to  infamy.  And  let  want  of  shame  or  impu- 
dence be  a  certain  contempt  and  impassivity  with  respect 
to  these  very  same  things. 

If,  therefore,  shame  is  that  which  we  have  defined  it 
to  be,  a  man  must  necessarily  be  ashamed  of  evils  of  such 
a  kind  as  appear  to  him  to  be  base,  or  to  those  whom  he 
regards.  But  things  of  this  kind  are  such  deeds  as  pro- 
ceed from  vice ;  such   for  instance  as,  for  a  soldier  16 


124 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  II. 


CHAP.  vni. 


RHETORIC. 


throw  away  his  shield  [in  battle]  or  fly  ;  for  this  proceeds 
from  timidity.  It  is  likewise  base  to  deny  a  deposit ;  for 
this  is  the  effect  of  injustice.  And  also  to  lie  with  wo- 
men with  whom  it  is  not  lawful  to  lie,  or  where  it  is  not 
proper,  or  when  it  is  not  proper ;  for  this  proceeds  from 
intemperance.  It  is  likewise  base,  to  seek  after  gain 
from  minute,  or  disgraceful,  or  impossible  things ;  as 
from  the  poor  or  the  dead  ;  whence  also  the  proverb,  to 
take  away  from  the  dead  ;  for  this  proceeds  from  a  desire 
of  base  gain,  and  from  illiberality.  It  is  also  base  for  a 
man  not  to  assist  others  with  money  when  he  is  able,  or 
to  assist  in  a  less  degree  than  he  is  able.  Likewise  for  a 
man  to  receive  pecuniary  assistance  from  one  less  rich 
than  himself,  is  base ;  and  for  him  to  take  up  money  at 
interest,  and  yet  seem  to  beg  ;  to  beg,  and  yet  seem  to 
demand  ;  to  demand,  and  yet  seem  to  beg ;  to  praise  a 
thing,  so  as  that  he  may  appear  to  beg  it ;  and  though 
repulsed,  to  persist  no  less  in  begging  it.  For  all  these 
are  indications  of  illiberality.  It  is  likewise  base  to  praise 
a  man  to  his  face ;  for  this  is  a  sign  of  flattery ;  also  to 
praise  above  measure  what  is  good,  but  extenuate  what 
is  evil ;  to  condole  immoderately  with  one  who  is  afliict- 
ed ;  and  every  thing  else  of  a  similar  kind  ;  for  these  are 
indications  of  flattery.  It  is  also  base  not  to  endure 
labours  which  more  elderly  or  delicate  men,  or  those  that 
have  greater  authority,  or  in  short  those  that  are  more 
imbecile  endure  ;  for  all  these  are  indications  of  effeminacy. 
To  be  benefited  likewise  by  another,  and  that  frequently 
is  base  ;  and  also  to  reprobate  the  benefits  conferred  on 
another.  For  all  these  are  indications  of  pusillanimity 
and  an  abject  mind.  It  is  also  base  for  a  man  to  speak 
of  himself,  and  to  promise  [great  things  of  himself;]  and 
likewise  to  attribute  to  himself  the  deeds  of  others  j  for 


125 


this  is  a  sign  of  arrogance.  In  a  similar  manner  in  each 
of  the  other  ethical  vices,  works,  and  indications,  the 
like  may  be  found  ;  for  they  are  base  and  shameful. 

In  addition  to  these  things  also,  it  is  shameful  not  to 
participate  of  those  beautiful  things  of  which  all  men,  or 
all  those  that  resemble  each  other,  or  most  men  partici- 
pate.    But  by  men  that   resemble  each  other  I  mean, 
those  of  the   same  nation,   city,   and  age,  and  who  are 
allied  to  each  other  ;  and  in  short,  those  that  are  of  an 
equal  condition.     For  it  is  now  base  not  to  partake  of 
these  things ;  as  for  instance,  of  such  a  portion  of  eru- 
dition,  and  of  other  things  in  a  similar  manner.     But  all 
these  are  more  shameful  when  they  are  seen  to  happen 
to  any  one  from  himself ;  for  thus  they  proceed  in  a 
greater  degree  from  vice,  when  a  man  is  the  cause  to 
himself,  of  past,  present,  or  future  evils.     Men  likewise 
are  ashamed  of  such  things  as  lead  to  infamy  and  dis- 
grace if  they  suffer  or  have  suffered,  or  are  to  suffer 
them ;  and  these  are  such  things  as  pertain  to  the  minis- 
trant  services   either   of  the  body,   or  of  base   works 
among  the  number  of  which  is  having  the  body  abused. 
Things  also  are  shameful  which  pertain  to  intemperance, 
whether  voluntary  or  involuntary  ;  but  things  which  per- 
tain to  violence  are  involuntary.     For  the  endurance  of 
such  things  unattended  with    revenge    proceeds    from 
sloth  and  timidity.    These,  therefore,  and  the  like  are  the 
things   of  which  men  are  ashamed. 

Since,  however,  shame  is  an  imagination  with  respect 
to  ignominy,  and  shame,  on  account  of  ignominy  itself, 
and  not  on  account  of  the  evils  virhich  attend  it ;  but  no 
one  pays  any   attention  to  opinion  except  on  account  of 


126 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  lU 


those  who  form  the  opinion,  men  must  necessarily  feel 
shame  in  the  presence  of  those  whom  they  regard  [when 
they  have  acted    wrong.]     But  they  regard  those  who 
admire  them,  and  those  whom   they  admire,  those  by 
whom  they  wish  to  be  admired,  and  with  whom  they 
contend  for  honours,  and  whose  opinion  they  do  not 
despise.     They  wish,  therefore,  to  be  admired  by,  and 
they  admire  those,  who  are  in  possession  of  some  good 
which  is  honourable,  or   from  whom  they  very  much 
wish  to  obtain  something  which  it  is  in  their  power  to 
give  them  J  as,  for  instance,  is   the  case   with   lovers. 
Men,  however,  contend  for  honours  with  those  that  re- 
semble themselves.     But  they  pay  attention  to  prudent 
men,  as  to  persons  of  veracity ;  and   men  of  this   kind 
are  such  as  are  more  elderly,   and  the  erudite.     Men 
also  are  ashamed  of  what  is  before  their  eyes,  and  is 
done  openly  ;  whence  the  proverb  that  shame  is  in  the 
eyes.     On  this  account  they  are  more  ashamed  before 
those  that  are   always  present  with  them,  and  who  pay 
attention  to  them,    because   both  these  are  before  their 
eyes.     They  are  likewise  ashamed  before  those  who  are 
not  obnoxious  to  the  same  crimes  as  themselves ;  for  it  is 
evident  that  the   opinions  of  the  latter  are  contrary  to 
those  of  the  former.   Before  those  also  they  are  ashamed 
who  are  not  disposed  to  pardon   such  as  appear  to  act 
wrong  ;  for  that  which  a  man  does  himself  he  is  said  not 
to  be  indignant  with  in  his  neighbours  ;  so  that  it  is  evi- 
dent he  will  be  indignant  with  crimes  which  he  does  not 
commit   himself.      They  are  likewise   ashamed  before 
those  who  divulge  to  many  persons  [any  thing  they  have 
done  amiss ;]  for  there  is  no  difference  between  the  not 
appearing  to  have  done  wrong,  and  the  not  divulging  it. 
But  those  divulge  [the  faults  of  others]  who  have  been 


CHAP*  VIII. 


RHETORIC. 


12' 


injured  by  them,  because  they  observe  their  conduct,  and 
also  those  who  are  given  to  defamation  (for  if  they  de- 
fame  those  who  have  not  acted  wrong,  much  more  will 
they  defame  those  that  have.)     Those  also  divulge  [what 
they  see  or  hear]  who  are   attentive  to  the  faults  of 
others,  such  as  those  that  deride,  and  comic  poets ;  for 
in  a  certain  respect  they  are  given  to  defamation  and  are 
babblers.     Men  likewise  are  ashamed  before  those  by 
whom  they  have  never  been  repulsed,  but  have  obtained 
what  they  wished ;  for  they  are  disposed  towards  them, 
as  towards  persons  whom  they  admire.     Hence,   also' 
they  feel  shame  before  those  who  have  for  the  first  time 
asked  any  thing  of  them,  as  not  having  yet  done  any 
thing  by  which  they  might  lose  their  good  opinion.     Of 
this   kind   likewise  are   such  as   recently    wish   to    be 
friends ;  for  they  have  perceived  qualities  of  the  most 
excellent  nature  in  us.     Hence,  the  answer  of  Euripides 
to   the   Syracusans   was   well,  [when   they  desired   his 
friendship.]     Among  those  likewise  who  were  formerly 
known  to  us  we  feel  shame  before  such  of  them  as  are  not 
conscious  [of  any  crime  we  may  have  committed.]   Men 
also  are  not  only  ashamed  of  disgraceful  things,  but  of 
the  indications  of  such  things.     Thus  for  instance  they 
are  not  only  ashamed  of  the  act  of  venery,  but  likewise 
of  the  indications  of  it ;  and  not  only  when  they  do  base 
things,  but  when  they  speak  of  them.     In  a  similar  man- 
ner,  also,  they  are  not  only  ashamed  before  the  above- 
mentioned  persons,  but  before  those  who  may  divulge 
their  actions  to  them,  such  as  the  servants  and  friends  of 
these.     In  short,  men  are   not   ashamed  before   those 
whose  opinion  with  respect  to  veracity,  is  despised  by 
many  persons ;  for  no  one  is  ashamed  before  children 
and  brutes.     Nor  are  men  ashamed  of  the  same  thintrs 


128 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  II. 


before  persons  that  they  know,  and  those  who  are 
unknown  to  them  ;  but  before  those  whom  they  know, 
they  are  ashamed  of  such  things  as  are  base  in  reality, 
and  before  those  that  are  unknown,  of  such  things  as  are 
legally  base. 

Men  likewise  when  they  are  ashamed,  are  affected  in 

the  following  manner.     In  the  first  place,  when  they  are 

present  with  persons  of  such  a  description  as  we  have 

shown  those  to  be  before  whom  they  are  ashamed  ;  but 

these  were  such  as  are  either  admired  by  them,  or  who 

admire  them,  or  by  whom  they   wish  to  be   admired, 

or  from  whom  they  are  in  want  of  something  advan- 

tageous,  which  they  will  not  obtain  if  they  are  without 

renown.     Men  also  are  ashamed  when  they  are  seen  by 

such  persons  as  these,  as  Cydias  the  orator  said  respect- 

ing  the  division  of  the  lands  in  Samos ;  for  he  desired 

the  Athenians  to  suppose  that  they  were  surrounded  by 

the  Greeks  in  a  circle,  not  only  as  hearers,  but  as  spec- 

tators  of  their  decrees.     And  they  are  likewise  ashamed, 

if  such  persons  are  near  them,  or  are  likely  to  be  spec' 

tators  of  their  actions.     Hence,  those  that  are  unfortu. 

nate  are   unwilling  to   be  seen   by  those  that  emulate 

them;  for  emulators  are  admirers.  Men  also  are  ashamed 

when  they  have  any  thing  which  disgraces  the  actions 

and  affairs,  either  of  themselves,  or  of  their  ancestors,  or 

of  certain   other  persons,  with  whom   they  have   any 

alHance  ;  and  in  short,  they  are  ashamed  before  those  of 

whom  they  are  themselves  ashamed.     But  these  are  such 

persons   as   the  above  mentioned,  and  those   who  are 

referred  to  them,  of  whom  they  have  been  the  preceptors 

or  counsellors.     They  are  likewise  ashamed  if  there  are 

other  persons  resemblbg  themselves  with   whom  they 


CHAP.  IX. 


RHETORIC. 


129 


contend  for  honorary  d.stinctions;  for  from  shame  they 
both  do  and  om,t  to  do  many  things  on  account  of  mel 
of  this  descnpfon.  Men  also  feel  more  ashamed  when 
hey  are  about  to  be  seen,  and  converse  openly  wiS 
those   who   are   conscious   Cof  their  actions  J    H^, 

command  of  T  "'"  ''  ""  '''  ^°  P""'^^"-  ^y  ^^^ 
command  of  Dionysms,  on  seeing  those  who  were  to  be 

executed  with  him.  having  their  faces  covered  as  they 
passed  through  the  gates  of  the  prison,  said,  why  do  you 
cover  your  faces  ?  Will  any  one  of  these  see  you'to-rn'or- 
row.  And  thus  much  concerning  shame.  But  with 
respect  to  impudence,  it  is  evident  that  we  shall  abound 
with  what  ,s  to  be  said  about  it  from  contraries. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Those,  however,  to  whom  men  are  grateful  and  in 
-hat  they  are  grateful,  or  how  they  arf  affectd "1  „ 
they  are  so,  will  be  evident  when  we  have  defined  Ihat 
a  favour  or  kmdness  is.  Let  a  favour,  therefore,  be  that 
accordmgjo  whtck  he  ^ho  possesses  a  thing,  is  said  to 
confer  a  favour  m  him  -who  is  in  want  of  it,  not  that  he 
may  receive  any  thing  from  him,  nor  that  any  advantage 
may  accrue  to  the  driver  htt  thm  h^  r,.i     -    -  ^ 

be  benefited,  "'"  "  "^.  ^'^^  """^ 

^^^^^*  VOL.   I.  J 


130 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  lU 


But  a  favour  is  great  when  it  is  conferred,  either  on 
one  who  is  very  much  in  want  of  it,  or  the  favour  itself 
consists  of  things  which  are  great  and  difficult  to  obtain, 
or  is  bestowed  opportunely,  or  when  he  who  bestows  it 
is  the  only  one,  or  the  first  that  bestows  it,  or  who  espe- 
cially bestows  it.  Wants,  however,  are  appetites  or 
desires,  and  of  these  particularly  such  as  are  accom- 
panied with  pain  when  the  desired  object  is  not  obtained. 
But  of  this  kind,  are  such  desires  as  love,  and  also  those 
which  take  place  in  the  maladies  of  the  body,  and  in 
dangers ;  for  he  who  is  in  danger  desires,  and  likewise 
he  who  is  in  pain.  Hence,  those  who  relieve  men  that 
are  in  poverty  or  in  exile,  though  the  relief  be  but  small, 
yet  on  account  of  the  magnitude  of  the  want,  and  the 
seasonableness  of  the  relief,  they  confer  a  favour ;  as  was 
the  case  with  him  who  gave  a  mat  [to  a  poor  exile]  in 
the  Lyceum.  It  is  necessary,  therefore,  that  he  who 
confers  a  favour  must  especially  confer  it  in  the  above- 
mentioned  circumstances ;  but  if  not  in  these,  in  such  as 
are  equal  or  greater. 

Hence,  since  it  is  evident  when  and  in  what  things  a 
favour  is  to  be  conferred,  and  how  those  are  affected  that 
bestow  a  favour,  it  is  likewise  manifest  that  from  hence, 
arguments  must  be  derived  for  the  purpose  of  showing 
that  others  are  or  have  been  in  such  like  pain  and  want, 
and  that  those  who  relieved  them  in  such  want,  relieved 
them  by  supplying  what  was  mentioned. 

It  is  likewise  manifest  whence  it  may  be  shown  that  a 
favour  has  not  been  conferred,  and  that  no  gratitude  is 
due,  either  by  evincing  that  it  is  or  has  been  conferred 
for  the  sake  of  those  that  bestowed  it  \  and  that  is  not  a 


CHAP.  X. 


RHETORIC. 


131 

favour.  Or  it  may  be  shown  that  it  was  conferred 
casually  or  by  compulsion.  Or  that  a  kindness  was 
returned  but  not  conferred,  whether  knowinglv  or  not  • 
for  in  both  ways  one  thing  is  given  for  anotherV  so  thaJ 

said  ,1"     ''  ^''  r"  '  '^  ^  '^^^^^-     W^^^  -  have 
said  likewise  must  be  considered  in  all  the  categories. 

For  It  IS  a  favour,  either  because  this  particular  thin^  is 

given,  or  so  much,  or  a  thing  of  such  a  quality,  or  at 

such  a  time,  or  in  such  a  place.     But  the  signs  [that  a 

favour  has  not  been  conferred]  are  if  less  has  been  done 

than  at  another  time.     And  if  the  same,  or  equal,  or 

gr^^ter  things  have  been  conferred  on  enemies ;  for  it  is 

evident  in  this  case,   that  these  things  have   not  been 

bestowed  for  our  sakes.     Or  if  things  of  a  vile  nature 

have  been  bestowed  knowingly;  for  no  one  will  acknow- 

ledge  that  he  is  in  want  of  vile  things.     And  thus  much 

concermng  conferring  and  not  conferring  a  favour 


CHAPTER  X. 


Let  us  now  show  what  pity  is,  how  men  that  commi- 
serate  others  are  affected,  and  what  things  and  persons 
are  the  objects  of  pity.  But  let  pity  be  a  certain  pain 
arising  from  an  apparent  destructive  and  dohrijic  evil 
ivhich  befak  some  one  undeservedly,  and  which  he  who 


132 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  11, 


feels  this  pain^  or  some  one  belonging  to  him  may  e<rp€Ct 
to  suffer  J  and  this  when  the  evil  is  seen  to  be  near. 

For  it  is  evident  that  he  who  will  commiserate  another 
person  must  necessarily  be  one  who  will  think  that  either 
himself,  or  some  one  belonging  to  him,  may  suffer  a 
certain  evil,  and  such  an  evil  as  we  have  mentioned  in 
the  definition  of  pity  j  or  an  evil  similar  or  allied  to  it. 
Hence,  neither  do  those  who  consider  themselves  as 
utterly  lost  feel  pity ;  (for  they  do  not  think  they  shall 
suffer  any  thing  further  than  what  they  have  suffered) 
nor  those  who  fancy  themselves  exceedingly  happy ;  for 
they  insultv  [those  that  are  in  calamity.]  For  if  they  fancy 
that  every  kind  of  good  is  present  with  them,  it  is  evident 
that  they  must  also  fancy  they  cannot  suffer  any  evil ; 
since  a  security  from  evil  is  among  the  number  of  goods. 
Those,  however,  who  are  compassionate  are  such  as 
think  they  may  suffer  ;  and  such  as  have  suffered  evils ; 
and  have  escaped  them.  Likewise  elderly  men,  on  ac- 
count of  their  prudence  and  experience.  Those  that  are 
feeble,  and  those  that  are  more  timid.  Also  those  that 
are  erudite  ;  for  they  accurately  consider  the  mutability 
of  human  affairs.  And  those  that  have  parents,  or  chil- 
dren, or  wives  ;  for  they  consider  their  evils  to  be  their 
own.  Those  likewise  are  compassionate  who  are  not 
overpowered  with  anger  or  confidence ;  for  those  that 
are  pay  no  attention  to  futurity.  And  also  those  who 
are  not  insolently  disposed  ;  for  those  that  are  do  not 
think  they  shall  suffer  any  evil.  But  those  are  compas- 
sionate who  exist  between  these.  Nor  again,  are  those 
compassionate  who  are  very  timid ;  for  those  who  are 
terrified  feel  no  pity,  because  they  are  occupied  with  their 
Ovm  passion.     Those  likewise  are   compassionate  who 


CHAP.  X. 


RHETORIC. 


133 


think  that  there  are  some  worthy  persons ;  for  he  who 
thmks  that  no  one  is  worthy  will  fancy  that  all  men 
deserve  to  suffer  evil.  And  in  short,  [a  man  is  compas- 
sionate]  when  he  is  so  disposed  as  to  remember  that  such 
Ike  evils  have  happened  either  to  him,  or  to  those  be- 
longing  to  him.  And  thus  we  have  shown  how  those 
who  compassionate  others  are  affected. 

What  the  things  are,  however,  which  they  compas. 
sionate  is  evident  from  the  definition.    For  all  such  pain- 
ful  and  lamentable  circumstances  as  are  of  a  destructive 
nature,  are  subjects  of  commiseration.     And,  likewise 
such  evils  as  fortune  is  the  cause  of  if  they  are  great! 
But  evils  which   are   lamentable  and   destructive  are 
death,  stripes,  the  maladies  of  the  body,  old  age,  dis' 
ease,  and  the  want  of  nutriment.     And  the  evi'ls  of 
which  fortune  is  the  cause  are,  the  privation  of  friends, 
a  paucity  of  friends ;  (on  which  account,  also,  it  is  la- 
nientable  to  be  torn  from  friends  and  familiars)  deformity 
of  body,  imbecilUty,  and  mutilation.     It  is  also  a  subject 
of  commiseration  for  some  evil  to  happen  there,  where 
It  was  fit  some  good  should  have  been  done.     And  for  a 
thing  of  this  kind  to  happen  frequently.     Likewise  for 
some  good  to  be  present,  when  no  advantage  can  be 
derived  from  it;  as  was  the  case  with  the  gifts  which 
were  sent  to  Diopithis  from  the  king  [of  Persia  0  for 
they  were  sent  to  him  when  he  was  dead.     It  is  'also  a 
subject  of  commiseration,  when  no  good  happens  to  any 
one,  or  if  it  does  happen,  it  cannot  be  enjoyed.     These, 
therefore,  and  things  of  this  kind,  are  subjects  of  com' 
miseration. 

But  men  compassionate  those  they  are  well  acquainted 


134 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  II. 


with,  unless  they  are  very  much  allied  to  them  ;  for 
towards  these,  when  they  are  about  to  ^  ufFer  any  evil, 
they  are  affected  in  the  same  manner  as  towards  them- 
selves. Hence,  Amasis,  when  his  son  was  led  to  death, 
did  not,  as  they  say,  weep  ;  but  he  wept  when  he  saw 
his  friend  beg.  For  this,  indeed,  was  an  object  of  com- 
miseration, but  the  former  was  a  dreadful  circumstance. 
For  that  which  is  dreadful  is  different  from  that  which 
is  commiserable,  and  has  the  power  of  expelling  pity.  It 
is  also  frequently  useful  to  the  contrary  [indignation.] 
Men,  likewise,  feel  compassion  [for  their  familiars] 
when  some  evil  is  near  them.  They  also  commiserate 
those  who  are  similar  to  themselves  in  age,  in  manners, 
in  habits,  in  dignities,  and  in  birth.  For  in  all  these  it  is 
more  apparent  that  they  may  suffer  the  like  evils.  For, 
in  short,  it  is  here  also  necessary  to  assume  that  men  feel 
pity  for  the  evils  of  others,  if  they  are  such  as  they  are 
fearful  may  befal  themselves.  Since,  however,  calamities 
which  appear  to  be  near,  are  the  subjects  of  compassion, 
but  such  as  happened  ten  thousand  years  aiiOy  or  which  will 
happen  ten  thousand  years  hence,  as  they  are  neither  the 
objects  of  expectation  nor  remembrance,  are  either  not 
at  all  the  subjects  of  compassion,  or  not  in  a  similar 
degree ;  hence,  those  things  which  are  represented  by 
the  same  gestures,  voices  and  apparel,  and  in  short  by 
the  same  action  [as  those  who  were  in  some  calamity 
adopted,]  are  necessarily  more  pitiable.  For  they  cause 
the  evil  which  we  commiserate  to  appear  nearer,  placing 
it  before  our  eyes,  either  as  that  which  will  be,  or  which 
has  been.  Calamities,  likewise,  which  have  recently  hap- 
pened, or  which  will  shortly  happen,  are  for  the  same 
reason  more  pitiable.  Signs,  also,  and  the  actions  [which 
have  been  employed  by  miserable  men,]  are  pitiable j  such 


CHAP.  XI. 


RHETORIC. 


135 


as  the  garments  which  they  have  worn,  and  other  things 
of  the  like  kind.  The  species,  likewise,  and  whatever  else 
is  of  a  similar  nature,  of  those  in  calamity,  as  for  instance, 
of  those  who  are  dying,  are  subjects  of  commiseration ; 
and  especially  of  those  who  in  such  circumstances  are 
worthy  men.  For  all  these  things,  because  they  seem 
near,  produce  greater  commiseration  ;  because  he  who 
suffers,  appears  not  to  deserve  these  evils,  and  because 
the  calamity  is  before  our  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


To  pity,  however,  that  passion  is  especially  opposed 
which  they  call  indignation.     For  to  the   pain   arising 
from  adverse  circumstances  in  which  some  one  is  unde- 
servedly involved,  the  pain  is  after   a  certain  manner 
opposed,    which    arises   from    the    same    manners,    on 
account  of  the  prosperity  which  some  one  unworthily 
obtains.      And  both  these  passions  are  the  offspring  of 
worthy   manners.     For  it  is  necessary  to  condole  and 
compassionate  those  who  are  undeservedly  unfortunate 
in  their  affairs ;  and  to  be  indignant  with  those  who  are 
undeservedly  prosperous.     For  that  which  happens   to 
any  one  contrary  to  his  desert  is  unjust.     Hence,  also, 
we  attribute  indignation  to  the  gods.     Envy,  likewise,' 
may  appear  to  be  after  the  same  manner  opposed  to  pity,' 
as  being  proximate  to  and  the  same  with  indignation.    It 


136 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  !!• 


IS  however  different  from  it.     For  envy  also  is  a  turbu- 
lent pain  arising  from  the  prosperity  [of  another  person] 
but  is  not  a  pain  arising  from  undeserved  prosperity,  but 
from  the  prosperity  of  one  who  is  equal  and  similar  to 
him  who   is  envious.     Both   these    passions,    however, 
agree   in  this,  that  each    is  pained    for   the   prosperity 
of  another,  because  he  is  prosperous,  and  not  because 
any  evil  arises  from  thence  to  the  subject   of  these  pas- 
sions.    For  if  this  were  not  the  case,  one  of  these  pas- 
sions would  no  longer  be  envy,  and  the  other  indigna- 
tion ;  but  each  would  be  fear,  if  pain  and  perturbation 
were  produced,  because  some  evil  would  befal  the  sub- 
ject  of  these  passions  from  the  prosperity  of  another. 

It  IS  however  evident  that  contrary  passions  are  conse- 
quent  [to  these  perturbations.]     For  he  who  is  pained 
on  account  of  the  unmerited  prosperity  of  others,  will 
rejoice,  or  at  least  will  be  without  pain,  on  account  of 
the  contraries  to  these,  viz.  those  who  are   deservedly 
unfortunate.     Thus  for  instance,  no  worthy  person  will 
be  pained,  when  parricides  and  murderers  are  punished. 
For  it  is  necessary  to  rejoice  in  the  misfortunes  of  such 
persons.     After  the  same  manner,  also,  it  is  proper   to 
rejoice  in  the  prosperity  of  those  who  are  deservedly  for- 
tunate.    For  both  these  are  just,  and  cause  a   worthy 
man  to  rejoice;  since  it  is  necessary  he  should  hope  the 
same  prosperity  will  also  befal  him  which  befel  one  who 
resembles   him.     And  all  these  passions  belong  to  the 
same  manners. 


But  the  contraries  to  these  belong  to  contrary  man- 
ners. For  it  is  the  same  person  who  rejoices  in  the  evils 
of  another,  and  who  is  envious  j  since  he  who  is  pained 


CHAP.  XI. 


RHETORIC. 


137 


at  that  which  befals  and  is  present  with  some  one,  must 
necessarily  rejoice  at  the  privation  and  destruction  of 
that  thing.  Hence,  all  these  passions  are  impediments  to 
pity ;  but  they  differ  from  the  above-mentioned  causes ; 
so  that  all  of  them  are  similariy  useful  for  the  prevention 
of  pity. 

In  the  first  place,  therefore,   let  us  speak  concerning 
indignation,  and  show  with  what  persons,  and  on  account 
of  what  circumstances  we  are  indignant,  and  how  those 
who  are  indignant  are  affected ;  and  afterwards,  let  us 
speak  concerning  the  other  passions.     But  from   what 
has  been  said,  it  is  evident  [with  what  persons  men  are 
indignant.]     For  if  to  be  indignant  is  to  be  pained  on 
account  of  some  one  who  appears  to  be  undeservedly 
prosperous,  in  the  first  place  it  is  evident,  that  we  cannot 
be  indignant  on  account  of  every  good.     For  if  a  man 
is  just  or  brave,  or  has  any  virtue,  no  one  can  be  indig- 
nant with  him ;  nor  are  those  the  objects  of  pity  who 
are  contrary  to  these.     But  men  are  indignant  at  riches 
and  power,  and  things  of  this  kind,  of  which,  in  short, 
good  men  are  worthy.     Nor  are  men   indignant  with 
those  who  possess  any  thing  which  is  naturally  good, 
such  as  nobility,  beauty,  and  the  like.     Since,  however] 
that  which  is  ancient  appears  to  be  something  proximate 
to  what  is  naturally  possessed,  it  necessarily  follows  that, 
men  are  more  indignant  with  those  who  possess  the  same 
good,  if  they  have  recently  possessed  it,  and  on  account 
of  this  are  in  prosperous  circumstances ;  for  those  who 
have  recently  become  rich  are  the  cause  of  greater  mo-  ■. 
lestation  to  others,  than  those  whose  wealth  is  ancient 
and  by  descent.     In  a  similar  manner,  also,  rulers,  pow- 
erful  men,  those  who  have  numerous  friends,  and  an  ex- 


138 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  II, 


CHAF.  XI. 


RHETORIC. 


cellent  progeny,  and  whatever  else  is  of  the  like  kind, 
occasion  greater  molestation  to  others.     And  this  is  also 
the  case  if  any  other  good  befals  them  on  account  of 
these   things.     For  we  are  more  indignant  with  those 
who  are  recently  rich  when  they  become  rulers  through 
their  riches,  than  with  those  who  have  been  for  a  long 
time  in  possession  of  wealth ;  and  in  a  similar  manner  in 
other  things.     The  cause,  however,  of  this  is,  that  those 
who  have  for  a  long  time  possessed  wealth,  appear  to 
possess  what  s  their  own ;  but    his  is  not  the  case  with 
those  who  have  recently  become  rich.     For  that  which 
appears  to  have  always  been  possessed,  appears  to  be 
truly  possessed  ;  so  that  persons  of  the  latter  description, 
do  not  seem  to  possess  what  is  their   own.     Because, 
likewise,  any  casual  person  is  not  worthy  of  every  good, 
but  there  is  a  certain  analogy  and  fitness;  (since,  for 
instance,  the  beauty  of  arms  is  not  adapted  to  a  just,  but 
to  a  brave  man,  and  illustrious  marriages  are  not  adapted 
to  those  who  have  recently  become  rich,  but  to  those  of 
noble  birth)— hence,  if  a  man  is  a  worthy  character,  and 
does  not  obtain  that  which  is  adapted  to  him  [so  far  as 
he  is  worthy,]  we  are  indignant.     We  are  likewise  indig- 
nant  when  an  inferior  contends  with  his  superior,  and 
especially  when  he  contends  with  him  in  that  in  which 
he  is  inferior.     On  this  account  it  is  said  [by  Homer,'] 

Hence  did  Ccbriones  in  combat  shun, 

T'  engage  the  valiant  son  of  Telamon ; 

For  his  presuming  pride  offended  Jove, 

That  with  a  better  man  he  durst  his  courage  prove. 

And  we  are  also  indignant  if  he  contends  with  him  in 
any  thing  else,  [and  not  only  in  that  in  which  he  is 
inferior  5]  as  if,  for  instance,  a  musician  should  contend 

«  Iliad,  II. 


I  S3 


with  a  just  man;  for  justice  is  a  thing  more  excellent 
than  music.  Frr,m  these  things,  therefore,  it  is  evident 
what  are  the  objects  of  indignation,  and  why  they  are  so- 
for  they  are  these,  and  things  of  a  like  nature.  ' 

But  men  are  disposed  to  be  indignant,  if  being  worthy 
to  obtain  the  greatest  goods,  they  do  not  obtain  them  - 
for  It  IS  not  just  to  think  those  persons  worthy  to  obtain 
a  similar  good,  who  are  not  similarly  worthy  ;  [and  when 
men  of  this  description  become  the  possessors  of  similar 
good,  worthy  men  are  indignant.]     In  the  second  place 
good  and  worlht/  men  are  prone  to  be  indignant  •  for 
they  judge  well,  and  hate  xvhat  is  unjust.     Those  'like 
wise,  are  indignant  who  are  ambitious,  and  who  Lspire 
after  certain  actions ;  and  especially  when  they  are  ambi 
tious  about  those  things  which  others  obtain,  that  are 
unworthy  to  obtain  them.     And  in  short,    those   who 
think  themselves  deserving  of  that  good,  which  other 
persons  think  them  not  to  deserve,  are  indignant  with 
such  persons,  and  especially  when  they  obtain  this  Rood 
Hence,  men  of  a  servile  disposition,  bad  men,  and  those 
who  are  not  ambitious,  are  not  prone  to  indignation  ;  for 
there  is  nothing  of  this  kind,  of  which  they  think  them- 
selves  worthy.     From  these  things,  however,  it  is  mani. 
fest  what  kind  of  persons  those  are  for  whose  misfortunes 
and  evils,  or  the  frustration  of  their  wishes,  we  ou^ht  to 
rejoice,  or  feel  no  pain ;  for  from  what  has  been  said 
the  opposites  are  apparent.     Hence,  unless  the  oration 
so  prepares  the  judges  when  their  compassion  is  solicited 
as  to  convmce  them  that  those  who  implore  their  pitv 
are  unworthy  to  receive  it,  and  that  those  who  do  not 
implore  it  are  worthy  to  receive  it,  it  is  impossible  to  ex- 
cite  pity  in  the  judges. 


.ii 


I 


140 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  II. 


CHAPTER  XIL 


It  is  likewise  evident  what  the  things  and  persons  are 
which  occasion  envy,  and  how  those  are  affected  that  are 
envious,  if  envy  is  a  certain  pain  arising  from  apparent 
prosperity  in  the  above-mentioned  goods,  when  it  hap- 
pens to  persons  of  a  similar  condition,  not  because  this 
prosperity  does  not  befal  him  who  is  envious,  but  be- 
cause it  falls  to  the  lot  of  those  who  are  tlie  objects  of 
envy. 

For  those  that  envy  are  such  as  to  whom  certain  per- 
sons are  similar,  or  appear  to  be  so ;  I  mean,  who  are 
similar  in  birth,  in  alliance,  in  habit,  in  reputation,  and 
external  abundance.     Men,  likewise,  envy  who  want  but 
little  of  possessing  every  good.     Hence,  those  who  per- 
form great  actions,  and  are  prosperous,  are  envious ;  for 
they  fancy  that  whatever  accedes  to  others  is  taken  from 
themselves.     Those  also  are  envious  that  are  remarkably 
honoured  for  a  certain  thing,  and  especially  when  they 
are  honoured  for  wisdom,  or  felicity.     Likewise,  those 
who  are  ambitious,  are  more  envious  than  those  who  are 
unambitious.     Those  also  are  envious  who  wish  to  seem 
to  be  wise,  but  are  not  so  in  reality ;  for  they  are  ambi- 
tious  of  the  honour  which  is  attendant  on  wisdom.     And 
in  short,  those  are  envious  who  are  lovers  of  renown  in 


CHAP.  XII. 


RHETORIC, 


141 


any  pursuit ;  for  in  this  pursuit  they  are  envious.  The 
pusillanimous  also  are  envious  ;  for  all  things  appear  to 
them  to  be  great. 

Hence,  therefore,  it  is  evident  what  the  goods  are 
which  are  the  objects  of  envy.  For  envy  is  excited  by 
those  actions  through  which  men  pursue  glory,  contend 
for  honour,  and  aspire  after  the  good  opinion  of  others. 
And  nearly,  in  all  such  things  as  are  the  effects  of  good 
fortune  there  is  envy.  But  this  is  especially  the  case  in 
those  things  which  men  either  desire  themselves,  or  fancy 
they  ought  to  possess ;  or  in  those  things,  in  the  posses- 
sion  of  which  they  are  a  little  superior,  or  a  little  inferior 
to  others. 


It  is  likewise  evident  who  the  persons  are  that  are  the 
objects  of  envy ;    for  this  was  at  the  same  time  shown 
[from  what  has  been  said  about  those  who  are  envious.] 
For  men  envy  those  who  are  near  to  them  in  time,  in 
place,  in  age,  and  in  renown.     Whence  it  is  said,  "  That 
which  is  kindred  knows  how  to  envy.'*     Men  also  envy 
those  with  whom  they  contend  for  honour;    for  they 
contend  for  honour  with  the  persons  above-mentioned. 
But  no  one  contends  with  those  who  lived  ten  thousand 
years  ago,  or  with  those  who  will  exist  ten  thousand 
years  hence,  or  with  those  who  are  dead ;  nor  yet  with 
those  who  dwell  at  the  pillars  of  Hercules ;  nor  with 
those  to  whom  in  their  own  opinion,  or  in  the  opinion  of 
others,  they  are  far  inferior.     Nor,  in  like  manner,  do 
they  contend  with  those  to  whom  they  are  much  superior. 
Since,  however,  men  contend  for  honour  with  their  an- 
tagonists, and  rivals,  and  in  short  with  those  who  aspire 
after  the  same  things,  it  is  necessary  that  they  should 


142 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  ir. 


especially  envy  those  persons.      Hence,  it  is  said  [by 
Hesiod]  Tlie  potter  envies  the  potter.     Those  also  who 
have  scarcely  obtained,  or  who  have  not  at  all  obtained 
a  thing,  envy  those  who  have  rapidly  obtained  it.     Men 
likewise  envy  those  who,  by  obtaining  or  acting  rightly  in 
any  thing,  are  a  disgrace  to  them ;  but  these  are  near 
and  similar.     For  it  is  evident  in  this  case  that  those 
who   envy    did    not    obtain    the   good    [which    those 
whoni  they  envy  obtained]  through  their  own  fault ;  so 
that  this  being  painful  produces  envy.     They  also  envy 
those  who  either  have  possessed  these  things,  or  who 
have  obtained  what  it  is  fit  for  them  to  possess,  or  which 
they  once  possessed;    and   on  this  account  the  more 
elderly  envy  the  younger.     Those  likewise  who  have 
spent  much  on  the  same  thing,  envy  those  who  have 
spent  httle  on  it.     It  is  also  evident  what  the  things  and 
persons  are  in  which  men  of  this  description  rejoice,  and 
m  what  manner  they  are  aifecled.     For  as  those  who  are 
not  thus  affected  are  pained,  so  those  who  are  so  affected  are 
delighted  with  contrary  circumstances,  [i.  e.  they  rejoice 
when  they  possess  the  good  which  those  are  deprived  of 
who  resemble  themselves.]     Hence,  if  the  orator  dis- 
poses  the  judges  to  be  affected  in  thesame manner  as  those 
are  who  are  envious ;  and  if  he  shows  that  those  who 
implore  pity,  or  desire  to  obtain  a  certain  good,  are  such 
as  we  have  said  those  are  who  are  envied,  it  is  evident 
that  they  will  not  obtain  pity  from  their  masters. 


CHAP.  XIII. 


RHETORIC. 


li^S 


CHAPTER  Xlir. 


It  is  likewise  from  hence  evident  how  they  are  affected 
who  are  emulous,  and  of  what  kind  of  things  and  per- 
sons they  are  emulous.  For  emidation  is  a  certain  pain 
arising  from  the  apparent  presence  of  honour abk  goods, 
and  -which  he  who  emulates  may  possess,  as  falling  to  the 
lot  of  those  ivho  naturally  resemble  him,  so  that  he  -who 
is  emulous  is  not  pained  that  these  goods  are  possessed  by 
another,  but  that  they  are  not  possessed  by  himself. 
Hence,  emulation  is  equitable,  and  is  possessed  by  equi- 
table men ;  but  envy  is  a  depraved  thing,  and  is  possessed 
by  depraved  men.  For  he  who  emulates  prepares  him- 
self through  emulation  for  the  attainment  of  good,  but 
he  who  envies  endeavours  through  envy  that  his  neigh- 
bour may  not  obtain  some  good. 

It  is  necessary,  therefore,  that  those  should  be  emulous 
who  thmk  themselves  deserving  of  the  good  which  they 
do  not  possess ;  for  no  one  thinks  himself  deserving  of 
things  which  appear  impossible  to  be  obtained.  Hence, 
young  men,  and  those  who  are  magnanimous  are  emulous. 
Those  likewise  are  emulous  who  possess  such  goods  as 
deserve  to  be  possessed  by  illustrious  men  ;  for  these  are 


144 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  II. 


riches,  numerous  friends,  dominion,  and  the  like.  For  as 
they  think  it  fit  that  they  should  be  worthy  men,  they 
emulate  the  worthy  who  possess  similar  goods.  Men 
also  emulate  those  whom  others  think  deserving  of  good. 
And  likewise  those  whose  ancestors,  or  kindred,  or  do- 
mestics, or  nation  or  city  are  famous,  are  in  these  things 
emulous ;  for  they  think  them  to  be  appropriate  to  them- 
selves,  and  that  they  are  worthy  of  these. 

If,  however,  honourable  goods  are  the  subjects  of 
emulation,  it  is  necessary  that  the  virtues  should  be  things 
of  this  kind  ;  and  likewise  such  things  as  are  useful  and 
beneficial  to  others.  For  benefactors  and  good  men  are 
honoured.  Those  goods  also  which  are  enjoyed  by 
those  who  are  proximate  to  us,  are  the  subjects  of  emu- 
lation; such  as  riches  and  beauty,  which  are  enjoyed 
more  than  health. 

It  is  evident,  therefore,  who  those  persons  are  that  are 
the  subjects  of  emulation ;  for  those  who  possess  these 
and  such  like  things  are  emulated.  But  these  are  the 
above-mentioned  particulars,  such  as  fortitude,  wisdom, 
and  dominion  ;  for  rulers  have  the  power  of  benefiting 
many.  Generals  likewise,  rhetoricians,  and  all  who  are 
able  to  effect  things  of  this  kind  are  objects  of  emulation. 
This  also  is  the  case  with  those  whom  many  wish  to  re- 
semble, or  of  whom  many  wish  to  be  the  familiars  or 
friends  ;  or  whom  many  admire,  or  whom  they  them- 
selves admire.  And  likewise  with  those  whose  praises 
and  encomiums  are  celebrated  by  poets,  or  the  writers  of 
orations.  Men,  however,  despise  those  who  are  de- 
pnved  of  these  goods,  and  who  are  defiled  with  the  con- 
trary vices ;    for  contempt  is  contrary  to  emulation,  and 


CHAf.  XIV. 


RHBTORIC, 


145 


emulating  to  despising.  But  it  is  necessary  that  those 
who  are  so  afii-ected  as  to  emulate  certain  persons,  or  be 
emulated,  should  despise  those  who  have  the  evils  oppo- 
ate  to  the  goods  which  produce  emulation.  Hence, 
they  frequently  despise  such  as  are  fortunate  when  for- 
ttme  IS  present  with  them  without  honourable  goods. 
And  thus  we  have  shown  through  what  particulars  the 
passions  are  ingenerated  and  dissolved,  from  which  ere. 
dibihty  is  derived. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

In  the  next  place  let  us  show  what  the  manners  of 
men  are  according  to  their  passions,  habits,  ages  and 
fortunes. 


And  the  passions,  indeed,  I  denominate  anger,  desire 
and  the  like,  concerning  which  we  have  spoken  before. ' 

But  habits  are  the  virtues  and  vices ;  and  of  these 
also  we  have  spoken  before,  and  have  also  shown  what 
the  objects  are  which  every  one  deliberately  chooses, 
and  what  the  actions  which  he  performs.  The  ages  are 
youth,  the  acme  of  life,  and  old  age.  But  I  call  fortune, 
nobUity,  wealth,  power,  and  the  contraries  to  these,  and 
in  short,  prosperous  and  adverse  fortune. 

■^^'fSt'  VOL.    1.  ^ 


146 


THE  ARt  OF 


BOOK  II. 


Young  men,  therefore,  are  prone  to  desire,  and  pre- 
pared to  accomplish  what  they  desire.  Of  all  the  desires 
pertaining  to  the  body  likewise,  they  are  especially  ad- 
dicted to  venereal  pleasures,  and  are  intemptTate  in 
these ;  but  they  are  mutable,  and  rapidly  become  fasti- 
dious in  their  desires.  They  also  desire  vehemently,  and 
quickly  cease  to  desire.  For  their  wishes  are  acute,  and 
not  great,  so  that  they  resemble  the  hunger  and  thirst  of 
those  that  are  sick.  They  are  likewise  prone  to  anger, 
are  precipitately  angry,  are  prepared  to  follow  the  im- 
pulse of  passion,  and  are  vanquished  by  anger.  For  in 
consequence  of  their  ambition  they  cannot  endure  to  be 
neglected,  but  are  indignant  if  they  conceive  that  they 
are  injured.  And  they  are  indeed  ambitious,  but  they 
are  more  desirous  of  victory  ;  for  youth  aspires  after 
transcendency ;  but  victory  is  a  certain  transcendency. 
They  are  also  more  desirous  of  both  these  [i.  e.  honour 
and  victory]  than  of  riches.  But  they  are.in  the  smallest 
degree  anxious  about  wealth,  because  they  have  not  yet 
experienced  the  want  of  it,  as  it  is  said  in  an  apophthegm 
of  Pittacus  upon  Amphiarus.  Young  men  likewise  are 
not  malevolent,  but  ingenuous,  because  they  have  not 
yet  beheld  much  depravity.  They  are  also  credulous, 
because  they  have  not  yet  been  deceived  in  many  things. 
And  they  are  full  of  good  hope  ;  for  in  the  same  manner 
as  men  [are  heated]  who  are  intoxicated  with  wine,  so 
young  men  are  naturally  hot;  and  at  the  same  time  they 
are  full  of  good  hope,  because  they  have  not  yet  been 
frequently  frustrated  of  their  wishes.  They  also  live  for 
the  most  part  from  hope ;  for  hope  indeed  is  of  the 
future,  but  memory  of  thepast ;  but  with  young  men 
the  future  is  long,  and  the  past  short.  For  in  the  morn- 
ing of  life  they  do  not  think  that  they  should  remember 


I 


CHAP.  XIV. 


RHETORIC. 


147 


a^r  thing,  but  hope  all  things.     They  are  likewise  easily 
deceived  for  the  cause  already  assigned  ;  for  they  easily 
.hope.    They  are  also  more  brave ;  for  they  are  irascible, 
and  full  of  good  hope ;    of  which  the  former  causes 
them  to  be  fearless,  and  the  latter  confident ;  for  no  one 
who  is  angry  is  afraid,  and  to  hope  for  some  good  pro- 
duces  confidence.     They  are  likewise  bashful ;  for  they 
do  not  as  yet  apprehend  other  things  to  be  beautiful  in 
conduct  than  those  in  which  they  were  instructed  by  law 
alone.     And  they  are  magnanimous ;  for  they  are  not 
yet  rendered  abject  by  life,  but  are  unexperienced  in  its 
necessities  ;  and  magnanimity  consists  in  a  man  believing 
himself  to  deserve  great  things ;  and  this  is  the  province 
of  one  who  entertains  good  hope.^    They  likewise  prefer 
beautiful  to  profitable  conduct ;  for  they  live  more  from 
mora!  precepts  than  from  reasoning ;  but  reasomng  is 
directed  to  that  which  is  profitable ;  and  virtue,   to  that 
which  is  beautiful.     Youth  also  is  a  lover  of  friends  and 
associates,  more  than  the  other  ages,  because  it  rejoices 
in^  society,  and  does  not  yet  judge  of  any  thing  by  its 
utility,  so  that  neither  does  it  seek  for  advantage  in  friend- 
ship.     Youth  likewise  err  in  every  thing  in  a  greater 
degree  and  more  vehemently,  contrary  to  the  precept  of 
Chilo  ;  for  they  do  all  things  too  much ;  since  they  love 
and  hate  too  much,  and  in  a  similar  manner  with  respect 
to  every  thing  else.     For  they  fancy  and  strenuously  con- 
tend that  they  know  all  things ;  and  this  is  the  reason 
why  they  exceed  in  all  their  actions.     They  also  injure 
others  from  insolence,  and  not  malevolently.     And  they 
are  compassionate,  because  they  apprehend  all  men  to  be 
worthy  and  better  than  they  are ;  for  by  their  own  inno- 
cence  they  measure  others ;  so  that  they  are  of  opinion  ; 
they  suffer  undeservedly.     They  are  likewise  addicted  to ' 


^ 


148 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  II. 


laughter;  on  which  account  also  they  are  facetious ;  %^r 
facetiousness  is  learned  contumely.  Such  therefore  are 
the  manners  of  youth, 


i.v, 


CHAPTER  XV, 

Elderly  men,  however,  and  those  who  have  lost  the 
vigour  of  age,  are  nearly  for  the  most  part  endued  with 
manners  contrary  to  those  of  youth.     For  because  they 
have   lived  many  years,  have    been  deceived  in  many 
things,  and  have  erred,  and  because  the  greater  part  of 
human  affairs  is  bad,  hence  they  do  not  firmly  assert 
any  thing,  and  estimate  all  things  less  than  is  proper. 
They  likewise  opine,  but  know  nothing ;  and  being  in- 
volved  in  doubt  they  always  add  perhaps,  and  it  may  be. 
And  in  this  manner  they  speak  on  every  subject ;  but 
they  assert  nothing  stably.     They  are  also  illnatured ; 
for  illnature  consists  in  putting  the  worst  constructidh  on 
every   thing.      Farther  still,   they  are  suspicious  from 
their  incredulity,  but  they  are  incredulous  from  their  ex- 
perience.    On  this  account,  likewise,  they  neither  love 
nor  hate  vehemently ;  but  according  to  the  precept  of 
Bias  they  love  as  if  they  should  some  time  or  other  hate, 
and  they  hate  as  if  they  should  some  time  or  other  love. 
They  are  also  pusillaninious,  because  they  have  become 


# 


CHAP.  XV. 


RHETORIC. 


149 


abject  through  length  of  years ;  for  they  desire  nothing 
great  or  illustrious,  but  those  things  only   which  are 
necessary  to   the   support   of  life.     They  are  likewise 
illiberal ;  for  one  of  the  necessaries  of  life  is  property  ; 
but  at  the  same  time  from  experience  they  know  how 
difficult  the  acquisition  of  wealth  is,  and  how  easily  it  is 
lost.     They  are  also  timid,  and  are  afraid  of  every  thing 
beforehand.     For  they  are  affected  in  a  manner  contrary 
to  youth  ;  since  they  are  frigid,  but  youth  is  hot ;  so 
that  old  age  prepares  the  way  for  timidity ;  for  fear  is 
a  certain  refrigeration.     They  are  likewise  lovers  of  life, 
and  especially  at  the   close   of  life,   because   desire   is 
directed  to  that  which  is  absent,  and  that  which  is  wanted 
is  especially  the  object  of  desire.     They  are  also  lovers 
of  themselves  more  than  is  proper ;  for  this  also  is  a 
certain  pusillanimity. )  And  they  live  with  a  view  to  what 
is  advantageous,  and  not  with  a  view  to  what  is  beautiful 
in  conduct,  more  than  is  proper,  because  they  are  lovers 
of  themselves.     For  that  which  is  advantageous  is  good 
to  an  individual :  but  that  which  is  beautiful  in  conduct 
is  simply  good./ They  are  likewise  more  impudent  than 
modest ;  for  because  they  do  not  similarly  pay  attention 
to  the  beautiful  in  conduct  and  the  advantageous,  they 
neglect  the  opinion  of  others,  as  to  their  own  actions. 
They  are  also  despondent,  on  account  of  their  experience 
[of  human  affairs  ;]  for  the  greater  part  of  human  con-, 
cerns  are  bad  j  and  therefore,  most  of  them  tend  to  a 
worse  condition ;  and  also  on  account  of  their  timidity. 
And  they  live  more  from  memory  than  from  hope  ;  for 
the  remainder  of  their  life  is  but  little ;  but  that  which 
is  past  is  much.    And  hope,  indeed,  is  of  the  future,  but 
memory  is  of  the  past.     This  likewise  is  the  cause  of 
their  garrulity  j  for  they  dwell  on  the  narration  of  past 


t 


150 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  II. 


events,  because  they  are  delighted  with  the  recollection 
x>{  them.     Their  anger  also  is  sharp,  but  imbecile.     And 
their  desires  partly  fail,  and  partly  are  weak ;  so  that 
they  are  neither  prone  to  desire,   nor  disposed  to  act 
according  to  its  impulse,  but  they  act  with  a  view  to  gain. 
Hence,  those  who  are  so  far  advanced  in  age  appear  to 
be  temperate ;  for  their  desires  become  remiss,  and  they 
are  subservient  to  gain.     They  likewise  live  more  from 
reasoning  than  from  manners  ;  for  reasoning  is  directed 
to  that  which  is  advantageous ;  but  manners  are  directed 
to  virtue.     They  injure  others  also  from  malevolence, 
and  not  from  insolence.     Old  men  likewise  are  compas- 
sionate as  well  as  young  men,  but  not  from  the  same 
cause ;  for  young  men  are  compassionate  from  philan. 
thropy,  but  old  men  from  imbecility;  for  they  fancy 
that  all  evils  are  near  them ;  and  this  was  the  definition 
of  a  compassionate  man.     Hence,  also,  they  are  queru- 
lous, and  are  neither  facetious,  nor  lovers  of  laughter ; 
for  the  querulous  disposition  is  contrary  to  that  which  is 
addicted  to  laughter.     Such,  therefore,  are  the  manners 
of  young  and  elderly  men.^  Hence,  too,  since  every  one 
willingly  admits  orations  adapted  to  his  manners,  and 
which  exhibit  similar  manners  [in  the  orator],  it  is  not 
immanifest  what  the  manners  are  which  an  orator  ought 
to  express  in  his  oration,  so  that  they  may  be  readily 
heard  by  the  young  or  the  old. 


CHAP,  XVI. 


RHETORIC. 


151 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


With  respect  to  those,  however,  who  are  in  the  acme 
of  life,  it  is  evident  that  their  manners  will  be  between 
those  of  youth  and  old  men,  so  as  to  take  away  the  ex- 
cess of  eaqh.  And  they  are  neither  very  confident ;  for 
audacity  is  a  thing  of  such  a  kind  as  confidence ;  nor 
very  timid,  but  are  disposed  in  a  becoming  manner  with 
respect  to  both  these.  Nor  do  they  confide  in  all  men, 
nor  disbelieve  all  men,  but  are  more  disposed  to  judge 
according  to  truth.  And  neither  do  they  alone  live  with 
a  view  to  what  is  beautiful  in  conduct,  nor  with  a  view 
to  what  is  advantageous,  but  with  a  view  to  both.  Nor 
are  they  inclined  to  parsimony,  nor  yet  to  luxury,  but 
to  that  [mode  of  life]  which  is  appropriate,  and  fit./ 
They  are  aJso  disposed  in  a  similar  manner  with  respect 
to  anger  and  desire;  and  they  are  temperate  in  conjunc- 
tion with  fortitude,  and  brave  in  conjunction  with  tem- 
perance. For  these  virtues  are  distributed  in  the  young 
and  the  old  ;  since  young  men  indeed  are  brave  and  in- 
temperate, but  elderly  men  temperate  and  timid.  In 
short,  the  advantages  which  are  distributed  among  the 
young  and  the  old,  subsist  in  conjunction  in  those  who 
are  in  the  acme  of  life ;  but  such  things  as  exceed,  or 
are  deficient  in  the  young  and  the  old,  of  these,  that 
which  is  moderate  and  fit,  [is  possessed  by  men  in  the 


152 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  II. 


Yigour  of  their  age.]  But  the  body,  indeed,  is  in  its 
acme  from  thirty  to  five  and  thirty  years  of  age,  but  the 
soul  about  the  forty  ninth  year.  And  thus  much  con- 
cerning the  manners  of  youth,  and  oW  age,  and  those 
who  are  in  the  acme  of  life. 


CHAPTER  XVIL 


CHAP.  xvnr. 


RHETOR  re. 


153 


are  abject.     For  there  is  a  fertility  in  the  progenies  of 
men.  m  the  same  manner  as  in  the  productions  of  the 
earth.     And  sometimes  if  the  stock  is  good,  illustrious 
men  are  for  a  time  produced  ;  but  afterwards,  there  is 
agam   a  remission   of  fecundity.     The   progeny,   also, 
which  possessed  an  excellent  disposition  degenerates  into 
more  insane  manners,  as  was  the  case  with  the  offspring 
of  Alcibmdes,  and  the  elder  Dionysius.     But  progeny 
of  a  stable  disposition  degenerate  into  stupidity  and  sloth'- 
as  was  the  case  with  the  descendants  of  Cimon,  Pericle/ 
and  Socrates.  "' 


Let  us  in  the  next  place  speak  concerning  the  goods 
derived  from  fortune,  through  which  it  happens  that  the 
manners  of  men  become  such  as  they  are.     The  man- 
ners, therefore,  of  nobility  are  indeed  such  as  render  him' 
who  possesses  it  more  ambitious;  for  all  men  when  any 
good  is  present  with  them  are  accustomed  to  accumulate 
it ;  but  nobility  is  a  certain  dignity  of  ancestors.     But 
it  is  peculiar  to  those  of  noble  birth  to  despise  those 
who  resemble  their  ancestors,  [i.  e.  who  have  recently 
obtained   those  goods  which    their  ancestors  formerly 
possessed  ;]  because  remote  renown  is  more  honourable 
than  that  which  is  recently  obtained,  and  is  attended 
with  greater  glory. 

A  man.  however,  is  noble  from  the  virtue  of  lineage ; 
but  he  is  generous  through  not  degenerating  from  the 
nature  [of  his  ancestors ;]  which  for  the  most  part  is  not 
the  case  with  men  of  noble  birth,  since  many  of  them 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

But  the  manners  which  are  consequent  to  wealth  mar 
be  easily  seen  by  all  men.  For  rich  men  are  insolent 
and  proud,  and  these  manners  they  derive  from  the  pos- 
session of  wealth ;  since  they  are  affected  in  the  same 
manner  as  if  they  possessed  every  good.  For  wealth  is 
as  It  were  the  test  by  which  the  worth  of  other  things  is 
estimated ;  on  which  account  it  appears  that  all  things 
may  be  purchased  by  it.  Rich  men  also  are  luxurious 
and  boastful;  luxurious,  indeed,  from  their  dehcate 
mode  of  living,  and  the  ostentation  of  their  felicity ;  but 
they  are  boastful  and  of  barbarous  manners,  because  all 
men  are  accustomed  to  dwell  upon  that  which  is  beloved 


<.- 


154 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  !!• 


and  admired  by  them;  and  because  they  fancy  that  others 
are  emulous  of  that  which  is  the  object  of  their  emula- 
tion. At  the  same  time,  however,  they  are  deservedly 
thus  affected ;  for  many  are  in  want  of  the  riches  which 
they  possess,  whence,  also,  that  saying  of  Simonides  re- 
specting wise  and  rich  men,  in  answer  to  the  wife  of  king 
Hiero  who  asked  him  whether  it  was  better  to  become  a 
rich  than  a  wise  man  ;  for  he  replied,  that  it  was  better  to 
be  a  rich  man  ;  because  wise  men,  said  he,  are  seen  wait- 
ing at  the  doors  of  the  rich.  They  are  also  thus  affected 
because  they  fancy  themselves  worthy  to  govern ;  for 
they  fancy  they  possess  those  things  for  the  sake  of  which 
government  is  thought  worthy  of  being  obtained.  And 
in  short,  the  manners  of  the  rich  are  the  manners  of  one 
who  is  stupidly  happy.  The  manners  of  the  wealthy, 
however,  who  have  recently  become  rich,  differ  from 
the  manners  of  those  who  have  derived  their  wealth  from 
their  ancestors  in  this,  that  the  former  have  all  vices  in  a 
greater  degree,  and  with  more  depravity ;  for  wealth 
recently  acquired  is  as  it  were  a  certain  inerudition  of 
riches.  Rich  men  also  injure  others  not  from  malevo- 
lence, but  partly  from  insolence,  and  partly  from  intem- 
perance ;  as  when  from  the  former  they  strike  others, 
and  from  the  latter  commit  adultery. 


CHAP.  XIX. 


RHETORIC. 


-155 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


Thus  too,  most  of  the  manners  pertaining  to  power 
are  nearly  evident ;  for  power  has  partly  the  same,  and 
partly  better  manners  than  wealth.  For  men  in  power 
are  as  to  their  manners  more  ambitious  and  more  virile 
than  rich  men,  because  they  aspire  after  those  employ- 
ments which  they  are  capable  of  performing  through 
their  power.  They  are  likewise  more  diligent,  as  being 
compelled  to  direct  their  attention  to  things  pertaining 
to  power.  They  are  also  more  venerable  than  severe ; 
for  dignity  renders  them  more  conspicuous  ;  on  which 
account  they  are  moderate  in  their  conduct.  But  vene* 
rableness  is  a  mild  and  decorous  gravity.  And  if  they 
act  unjustly,  it  is  not  in  small  affairs,  but  in  things  of 
great  consequence. 


Prosperity,  likewise,  as  to  its  parts,  has  the  manners  of 
the  above-mentioned  characters,  [viz.  of  the  noble,  the 
rich,  and  the  powerful ;]  for  those  prosperities  which 
appear  to  be  the  greatest  tend  to  these.  And  farther 
still,  prosperity  prepares  us  to  abound  in  a  good  offspring, 
and  in  the  goods  pertaining  to  the  body.  Powerful  men, 
therefore,  are  more  proud  and  inconsiderate,  on  account 
of  their  prosperity.      Among  the  manners^  hoxvever^ 


1.^6 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  ir« 


Ki'hkh  are  attendant  on  good  fortune^  there  is  one  which 
is  most  excellent^  and  it  is  this,  that  the  fortunate  are 
lovers  of  divinity^  and  are  well  disposed  towards  a  divine 
nature  ;  for  they  believe  in  it  [in  a  becoming  mafiner,'] 
in  coiisequence  of  the  goods  proceeding  fiom  fortune^ 
And  thus  much  concerning  the  manners  of  men  accord- 
ing  to  age  and  fortune ;  for  the  manners  which  are  con- 
trary to  the  before-mentioned,  are  evident  from  contrary 
[fortunes  ;]  viz.  from  the  fortunes  of  the  poor,  the  un- 
fortunate,,  and  the  powerless.  \ 


^-.^Jn,. 


(^.  A^]C^j  it  ^^^^ 


.v.. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


Th£  use,  however,  of  persuasive  orations  pertains  to 
judgment ;  for  we  no  longer  require  arguments  about 
things  which  we  know,  and  of  which  we  have  formed  a 
judgment.  And  though  it  be  but  one  person  alone  whom 
the  orator  endeavours  to  exhort  or  dissuade,  as  is  the  case 
with  those  who  admonish  or  persuade,  yet  that  one  per- 
son  is  a  judge ;  for  he  whom  it  is  necessary  to  persuade, 
is,  in  short,  a  judge.  And  the  like  takes  place,  whether 
the  oration  is  directed  against  the  litigant,  or  against  the 
hypothesis ;  for  it  is  necessary  that  an  oration  should  be 
employed,  and  that  the  contrary  arguments  should  be 


CHAP.  XX. 


RHETORIC. 


157 


subverted,  against  which,  as  against  a  litigant,  the  oration 
is  made.  A  similar  method  must  also  be  adopted  in 
demonstrative  orations ;  for  in  these  the  speech  is  di- 
rected to  the  spectators  as  to  judges.  In  short,  he  alone 
is,  simply  speaking,  a  judge,  who  in  political  contests 
judges  the  subjects  of  investigation.  For  [in  such  con- 
tests] the  manner  in  which  things  of  a  dubious  nature 
subsist  is  investigated,  and  also  those  which  are  the  sub- 
jects of  consultation.  Concerning  the  manners  of  poli- 
tics, however,  we  have  already  spoken  in  what  we  have 
said  about  deliberative  affairs  ;  so  that  it  is  there  explained 
in  what  manner,  and  through  what  particulars  we  may 
produce  ethical  orations.  But  since  about  every  kind  of 
orations  there  is  a  certain  different  end,  and  about  all  of 
♦them  opinions  and  propositions  are  assumed,  from  which 
those  who  consult,  demonstrate,  and  dispute,  derive  cre- 
dibility ;  and  farther  still,  since  we  have  also  discussed 
those  particulars,  from  which  it  is  possible  to  compose 
ethical  orations  ; — it  remains  that  we  should  discuss  such 
things  as  are  common.  For  it  is  necessary  that  all  rhe- 
toricians in  orations  [of  every  kind]  should  employ  what 
pertains  to  the  possible  and  impossible,  and  should  en- 
deavour to  show  that  some  things  will  be,  and  that 
others  have  been.  The  consideration,  likewise,  of  mag- 
nitude is  common  to  all  orations ;  for  all  orations,  whe- 
ther they  persuade  or  dissuade,  whether  they  praise  or 
blame,  accuse  or  defend,  employ  diminution  and  ampli- 
fication. But  these  things  being  determined,  let  us  en- 
deavour to  discuss  in  common  what  pertains  to  enthy* 
memes  and  examples,  in  order  that  by  adding  what 
remains  we  may  bring  to  an  end  what  we  proposed  from 
the  first.  Of  things  however  which  are  common,  amph% 
^cation  is  most  adapted  to  demonstrative  orations,  as  we 


158 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  ir. 


have  before  observed ;  but  that  which  has  been  done  is 
most  adapted  to  judicial  orations  (for  judgment  is  em- 
ployed  about  these) ;  and  the  possible  and  what  will  be 
done  are  most  adapted  to  deliberative  orations. 

In  the  first  place,  therefore,  let  us  speak  concerning 
things  possible  and  impossible.     If  then  it  is  possible  for 
one  contrary  to  be,  or  to  be  effected,  it  would  seem  to 
be  possible  that  the  other  contrary  also  may  be.     Thus, 
for  instance,  if  it  is  possible  that  a  man  may  be  restored 
to  health,  it  is  also  possible  that  he  may  be  diseased ;  for 
there  is  the  same  power  of  contraries  so  far  as  they  are 
contraries.     And  if  one  similar  is  possible,  another  simi- 
lar  likewise  is  possible.     And  if  that  which  is  more  diffi- 
cult  is  possible,  that  also  which  is  more  easy  is  possible. 
If,  likewise,  it  is  possible  for  a  thing  to  be  rendered  good 
or  beautiful,  it  is  possible,  in  short,  for  that  thing  to  be 
produced ;   for  it  is  more  difficult  for  a  beautiful  house, 
than  for  a  house  simply,  to  exist.     That  also  of  which 
the  beginning  is  possible  the  end  is  possible  ;  for  nothing 
is  effected,  nor  begins  to  be  effected,  of  things  which  are 
impossible.     Thus,  for  instance,  it  will  never  begin  to  be 
possible,  nor  will  it  ever  be  possible,  that  the  diagonal  of 
a  square  should  be  commensurable  with  the  side  of  the 
square.     That  of  which  the  end,  likewise,  is  possible, 
the  beginning  is  possible ;  for  all  things  are  produced 
from  the  beginning  or  principle.     If  that,  also,  which  is 
posterior  in  essence,   or  in  generation,  is  possible  to  be  . 
effected,  this  is  likewise  the  case  with  that  which  is  prior; 
as,  if  it  is  possible  for  a  man,  it  is  also  possibk  for  a  child, 
to  be  generated ;  for  the  latter  is  prior  to  the  former. 
And  if  it  is  possible  for  a  child  to  be  generated,  it  is 
likewise  possible  for  a  man  j  for  a  child  is  the  beginning, 


CHAP.  XX. 


RHETORIC. 


1$9 


[but  man  is  the  end  of  this  generation.]     Those  things, 
also,  of  which  the  love  or  desire  is  from  nature,  are  pos- 
sible;  for  no  one  for  the  most  part  loves  or  desires  things 
impossible.    And  it  is  possible  for  those  things  to  be  and 
to  be  effected,  of   which  there  are  sciences  and  arts. 
Those  things  likewise  are  possible,  the  principle  of  the 
generation  of  which  is  in  those  things  which  we  can 
compel,  or  persuade ;  and  these  are  things  than  which  we 
are  more  powerful,  or  of  which  we  are  the  masters  or 
friends.     And  of  those  things  of  which  the  parts  are 
possible,  the  whole  is  possible ;   and  of  those  things  of 
which  the  whole,  the  parts  also  are  for  the  most  part  pos- 
sible.   For  if  it  is  possible  for  the  ornaments  of  the  head, 
and  a  garment  to  be  made,  it  is  also  possible  for  apparel 
to  be  made ;  and  if  apparel,  it  is  likewise  possible  for 
the  ornaments  of  the  head,  and  a  garment  to  be  made. 
If,  likewise,  the  whole  genus  is  among  the  number  of 
things  possible  to  be  effected,  this  is  also  the  case  with 
the  species  ;  and  if  with  the  species,  likewise  with  the 
genus.     Thus,  for  instance,  if  it  is  possible  for  a  ship,  it 
is  also  possible  for  a  three-banked  galley  to  be  construct- 
ed ;  and  if  a  three-banked  galley,  a  ship  likewise  may  be 
constructed.     And  if  one  of  those  things  which  are  na- 
turally related  to  each  other  is  possible,  the  other  also  is 
possible  ;  as  if  the  double  is  possible,  this  is  also  the  case 
with  the  half ;  and  if  the  half,  the  double  also.     If,  like- 
wise, it  is  possible  for  any  thing  to  be  effected  without 
art  or  preparation,  it  is  much  more  possible  for  it  to  be 
effected  through  art  and  diligent  attention ;  whence,  also, 
it  is  said  by  Agatho, 

Some  things  by  fortune  may  effected  be. 
And  some  by  art  we  do,  and  from  necessity. 


160 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  II. 


And  if  a  thing  may  be  effected  by  worse,  or  inferior,  or 
more  imprudent  persons,  it  may  also  be  much  more 
effected  by  persons  of  a  contrary  description ;  as  likewise 
Isocrates  said,  that  it  would  be  a  dreadful  thing,  if  Eu- 
thynus  should  have  learnt  that,  which  he  himself  was 
unable  to  discover.  But  with  respect  to  things  impos- 
sible, it  is  evident  that  they  may  be  obtained  from  the 
contraries  to  the  above-mentioned  particulars. 

Whether  a  thing,  however,  has  been  done,  or  has  not 
been  done,  must  be  considered  from  what  follows.     For 
in  the  first  place,  if  that  has  been  done,  which  is  less 
naturally  adapted  to  have  been  done,  that  will  have  been 
effected  which  is  more  naturally  adapted  to  have  been 
done."     And  if  that  which  was  wont  to  be  done  after- 
wards has  been  done,  that  also  has  been  done,  which 
was  usually  done  before  ;  as  if  a  man  has  forgotten  any 
thing,  he  has  once  learnt  that  which  he  has  forgotten. 
And  if  a  man  is  able  and  willing  to  do  a  thing  he  has 
done  it ;  for  all  men  act,  when  they  are  willing  and  able; 
since  there  is  then  no  impediment  to  their  acting.     Far- 
ther  still,  if  a  man  is  willing  to  do  a  thing,  and  nothing 
external  impedes  him,  he  does  it.     And  if  he  is  able  to 
effect  any  thing,  and  is  angry,  he  effects  it ;  and  this  is 
likewise  the  case  if  he  is  able,  and  is  under  the  influence 
of  desire.     For  men  for  the  most  part  do  those  things 
which  they  desire,  and  are  able  to  effect ;  depraved  men, 
indeed,  from  intemperance;   but  worthy  men  because 
they  desire  what  is  equitable.     If,  also,  any  one  intended 

^  '  Thus  It  IS  more  difficult  to  injure  another  person  In  deeds  than 
in  words.  Hence,  if  some  one  has  injured  another  in  deeds,  he  has 
iilso  injured  him  in  words. 


\ 


CHAP.  XX. 


RHETORIC. 


161 


to  do  a  thing,  it  is  probable  that  he  did  it.     And  if  such 
things  are  done  as  are  naturally  adapted  to  be  done  prior 
to  a  certain  thing,  or  for  the  sake  of  it,  [that  thing  has 
been  done.]     Thus,  if  it  has  lightened,  it  has  also  thun. 
dered.     And  if  any  one  has  endeavoured  to  do  a  certain 
thing,  he  has  also  done  it.     And  if  such  things  as  are 
naturally  adapted  to  have  been  done  afterwards,  or  if 
that  for  the  sake  of  which  they  are  done  has  been  ef. 
fected,  that  also  which  is  done  prior  to  them,  and  for  the 
sake  of  which  they  are  done,  has  been  effected.     Thus 
-if  It  has  thundered,  it  has  lightened ;   and  if  a  thing  has 
been  done,  there  has  likewise  been  an  endeavour  to  do 
It.     With  respect,  however,  to  all  these  things,  some  of 
them  are  from  necessity  ;  but  others  for  the  most  part 
subsist  after  this  manner.     And  as  to  that  which  has  not 
been  done,  it  is  evident  that  it  may  be  shown  not  to  have 
been   done  from   places   contrary   to   the  before-men. 
tioned. 


Evidence,  likewise,  with  respect  to  what  will  be  done 
may  be  derived  from  the  same  things  ;  for  that  which  it 
is  m  the  power  and  will  of  any  one  to  do,  will  be  done. 
This  IS  also  the  case  with  things  which  any  one  is  im- 
pelled  to  do  from  desire  and  anger,  and  reasoning  in 
conjunction  with  power.     Hence,  if  any  one  is  impelled, 
or  meditates  to  do  a  thing,  it  will  be  done  ;  since  for  the 
most  part  things  which  are  intended  to  be  done  are  ef- 
fected,  rather  than  those  which  are  not.     If,  also,  those 
things  are  done  which  ought  to  have  been  done  first, 
that  likewise  will  be  done,  which  ought  to  have  been 
done  afterwards.      Thus,   because  before  it  rains  the 
clouds  ought  to  be  collected,  if  the  clouds  are  collected. 


Arist. 


VOL.  I. 


162 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  II. 


it  is  probable  it  will  rain.  And  if  a  thing  has  been  dona 
which  is  for  the  sake  of  something  else,  it  is  probable 
that  the  thing  will  be  done  for  the  sake  of  which  the 
other  was  done ;  as  if  the  foundation  is  laid,  it  is  pro- 
bable the  house  will  be  built. 


CHAP.  XXI. 


RHETORIC. 


1C3 


With  respect,  however,  to  the  magnitude  and  parvi- 
tude  of  things,  the  greater  and  the  less,  and  in  short 
things  which  are  great  and  small,  these  will  be  evident 
to  us  from  what  has  been  before  said ;  for  in  the  discus- 
sion of  the  deliberative  genus  we  have  spoken  concerning 
the  magnitude  of  what  is  good,  and  in  short,  concerning 
the  greater  and  the  less.  Hence,  since  in  every  oration 
the  proposed  end  is  good  ;  as  for  instance,  the  useful, 
the  beautiful,  and  the  just,  it  is  evident  that  through 
these,  amplifications  must  be  assumed  in  all  orations. 
But  besides  these,  to  investigate  any  thing  concerning 
magnitude  simply  and  excess,  is  a  vain  discussion.  For 
particulars  are  more  useful  pn  the  composition  of  orations] 
than  universals.  And  thus  much  concerning  the  possi- 
ble and  impossible,  and  whether  a  thing  has  been  done, 
or  has  not  been  done,  and  will  be,  or  will  not  be ;  and 
further  still,  concGrning  the  greatness  and  littleness  of 
things. 


CHAPTER  XXr. 


It  now  remains  to  speak  about  the  credibility  which  is 
common  to  all  [orations],  since  we  have  already  spoken 
about  the  credibility  which  is  peculiar.  But  there  are 
two  kinds  of  the  credibility  which  is  common,  viz.  ex- 
ample  and  enthymeme;  for  a  sentence  is  a  part  of  an 
enthymeme.  In  the  first  place,  therefore,  let  us  speak 
eoncernmg  example ;  for  example  is  similar  to  indue 
tion  ;  but  induction  is  a  principle.' 

^  But  of  examples  there  are  two  species  ;  for  one  spe- 
cies  indeed  of  example,  is  to  speak  of  things  that  are  past, 
but  the  other  is,  when  we  ourselves  feign  [something  simi! 
lax  for  the  purpose  of  showing  that  which  we  wish  to 
show.]     And  of  this,  one  species  is  a  parable,  but  the 
other  fables  like  those  of  iEsop  and  the  Africans.     Ex- 
ample,  however,  is  indeed  a  thing  of  the  following  kind, 
as  if  some  one  should  say,  <^  That  it  is  necessary  to 
make  preparations  against  the   Persian  king,    and  not 
suffer  him  to  subjugate  Egypt ;  for  prior  to  him  Darius 
could  not  pass  over  [the  Hellespont]  till  he  had  captured 

■  As  in  the  sciences  induction  is  employed  as  a  principle  for  the 
purpose  of  proving  universals,  so  in  rhetoric  txamvU  is  employed 
in  order  to  unfold  them. 


164 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  11. 


Egypt ;  but  when  he  had  captured  It,  he  passed  into 
Greece*"     And  again,   "  Xerxes  did  not  attack  Greece 
till  he  had  captured  Egypt ;   but  when  he  had  captured 
it,  he  passed  over  into  Greece;  so  that  this  king  [of 
Persia]  also,  if   he  should  take  Egypt  will  pass  into 
Greece.     Hence,  he  must  not  be  suffered  to  do  this." 
But  a  parable  is  a  Socratic  similitude ;  as  if  some  one 
should  say,  *'  That  it  is  not  proper  magistrates  should  be 
chosen  by  lot ;   for  this  is  just  as  if  some  one  should 
choose  athletse  by  lot,  so  as  not  to  select  those  vyho  are 
able  to  contend,  but  those  on  whom  the  lot  falls ;  or  as 
if  some  one  should  choose  by  lot  from  a  number  of 
sailors,  him  who  ought  to  be  the  pilot  of  a  ship,  as  if  it 
were  proper  that  he  should  be  chosen  on  w^hom  the  lot 
falls,  and  not  he  who  is  skilled  in  steering  a  ship."    But 
a  fable  is  such  as  that  of  Stesichorus  against  Phalaris, 
and  of  jEsop  for  a  certain  demagogue.     For,  when  the 
Himerians  had  chosen  Phalaris  for  their  general  with 
absolute  authority,  and  were  about)sto  give  him  a  guard 
for  .his  body,  Stesichorus  after  other  things  which  he 
had  said,  addressed  this  fable  to  them,  "  That  a  horse 
[once]  had  sole  possession  of  a  meadow,  but  that  a  stag 
coming  into  it,  and  destroying  the  pasture,  the  horse 
wishing  to  be  revenged  of  the  stag,  asked  a  man,  if  he 
should  be  able  in  conjunction  with  him  to  punish  the 
stag.     But  the  man  answered,  that  he  should  be  able  if 
he  would  suffer  himself  to  be  bridled,  and  let  him  get 
on  his  back,  armed  with  darts.     The  horse,  therefore, 
having  consented,  the  man,  having  got  on  his  back,  in- 
stead of  taking  vengeance  on  the  stag,  made  the  horse 
his  slave.     In  like  manner,  said  he,  do  you  Himerians 
take  care,  lest  wishing  to  be  revenged  of  your  enemies, 
you  suffer  the  same  things  as  the  horse.     For  now  you 


CHAP.  XXI. 


RHETORIC. 


165 


have  received  a  bridle,  in  having  chosen  a  general  with 
absolute  authority ;  but  if  you  allow  him  a  guard,  and 
suffer  him  to  get  on  your  backs,  you  will  immediately 
be  enslaved  by  Phalaris."     But  iEsop,  when  pleading  in 
Samos'for  a  demagogue  who  was  in  danger  of  losing 
his  life,  said,   "  That  a  fox  in  passing  over  a  river  fell 
into  a  whirlpool,  and  not  being  able  to  get  out  of  it,  was 
for  a  long  time  in  a  miserable  condition,  and  many  canine 
flies  adhered  to  his  skin.     But  a  hedgehog  wandering 
along,   as  soon  as  he  saw  him,   commiserating  his  con- 
dition,  asked  him  whether  he  should  drive  away  the 
canine  flies  from  him.  /  The  fox,  however,  would  not 
give  his  permission ;   and  being  asked  by  the  hedgehog 
why  he  would  not,  replied,  because  these  indeed  are  now 
full  of  me,  and  draw  but  little  blood ;   but  if  you  drive 
these  away,  others  will  come  who  are  hungry,  and  will 
drink  up  the  rest  of  my  blood.      Thus,    O  men  of 
Samos !  said  he,  this  man  will  no  longer  hurt  vou  ;   for 
he  is  rich ;  but  if  you  put  him  to  death,  other  persons 
who  are  poor  will  succeed  him,  and  by  thieving  the  pub- 
lic property,  will  consume  your  wealth." 

Fables,  however,  are  adapted  to  popular  harangues, 
and  they  have  this  good,  that  it  is  difficult  to  find  things 
which  have  been  similarly  transacted  ;  but  it  is  easy  to 
find  fables.'  For  it  is  necessary  that  he  who  is  able  to 
perceive  similitude  [in  things]  should  compose  fables  in 
the  same  manner  as  parables,  which  it  is  easy  to-  do  from 
philosophy.     It  is  ^asy,  therefore,  tg  introduce  fables; 

'  Fables  excel  examples  taken  from  true  histories  in  this,  that 
it  is  difficult  to  find  true  histories,  but  fables  ma,j  be  easily  ad- 
duced. 


166 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  II. 


a 


-j^y- 


but  examples  derived  from  history  are  more  useful  for 
the  purposes  of  consultation ;  for  future,  for  the  most 
part,  resemble  past  events. 

But  It  is  necessary  that  the  orator  should  use  examples 
as  demonstrations  when  he  has  not  enthymemes ;  for 
credibility  is  obtained  through  these.     And  when  he  has 
enthymemes,  he  should  use  them  as  testimonies,  and 
should  employ  examples  in  the  epilogues  of  the  enthy- 
memes.    For   examples,   when   they  are  proposed   by 
themselves,  ought  to  be  similar  to  inductions ;  but  in- 
duction is  not  adapted  to  rhetorical  compositions  except 
in  a  few  instances.     And  examples  when  adduced  in 
confirmation  of  conclusions  are  equivalent  to  testimonies. 
But   a   witness   is   every   where   adapted   to   persuade. 
Hence,  he  who  introduces  examples   prior   to  enthy- 
memes, must  necessarily  adduce  many   examples ;  but 
one  example  is  sufficient  for  the  purpose  of  confirming 
what  has  been  proved  by  enthymemes.     For  a  credible 
witness,  though  but  one,  is  useful.     And  thus  we  have 
shown  how  many  species  there  are  of  examples,  and 
how  and  when  they  are  to  be  used. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


With   respect  to  gnomology,  or  the  doctrine  of  a 
sentence,  when  we  have  shown  what  a  sentence,  is,   it 


CHAP.  xxir. 


RHETORIC^ 


167 


will  then  especially  become  evident,  about  what  kind  of 
things,  and  when,  and  to  what  persons,  it  is  fit  to  employ 
sentences  in  orations.  But  a  sentence  is  an  enunciation, 
yet  not  about  particulars,  such  as  what  kind  of  person 
Iphicrates '  was,  but  about  that  which  is  universal ;  yet 
it  is  not  about  all  universals,  such  for  instance  as  that  a 
right  is  contrary  to  a  curved  line ;  but  it  is  about  those 
universals  with  which  actions  are  conversant,  and  those 
things  which  in  acting  are  eligible  or  to  be  avoided. 
Hence,  because  enthymemes  are  nearly  syllogisms  about 
things  of  this  kind,  if  the  syllogism  is  taken  away,  the 
conclusions  and  the  principles  of  the  enthymemes  are 
sentences.  Thus  for  instance  [what  Medea  m  Euripides 
says  is  a  sentence,  viz.]  **  It  does  not  become  a  man  of 
a  sound  mind  to  educate  his  children  so  as  to  render 
them  transcendently  wise.'*  This,  therefore,  is  a  sen- 
tence.  But  the  cause  being  added,  and  the  *whi/y  the 
whole  is  an  enthymeme  ;  as  for  instance,  [in  the  words 
of  Medea,]  "  For  besides  the  indolence  which  they  thus 
acquire,  they  excite  the  baneful  envy  of  their  fellow 
citizens."  And  also,  "  There  is  no  man  who  is  in  all 
respects  happy.'* "  And,  ««  There  is  not  any  man  who 
is  free ;"  '  is  a  sentence ;  but  the  following  words  being 
added,  it  becomes  an  enthymeme,  viz.  "  For  he  is 
either  the  slave  of  wealth,  or  of  fortune." 


If,  therefore,  a  sentence  is  what  we  have  said  it  is, 
there  are  necessarily  four  species  of  a  sentence.     For  it 

*  Iphicrates  was  an  Athenian,  who,  though  bom  in  obscurity,  by 
his  industry  and  virtue  ascended  to  the  highest  dignities  of  the 
state. 

*  Ex  Schenobcea  Euripid.  in  Prologo. 
^  Ex  Euripid.  Hecuba. 


168 


T^E    ART    OF 


BOOK  lU 


ivill  either  subsist  in  conjunction  with  an  epilogue  -  or 
wuhout  an  epilogue.  Those  sentences,  therefore/ re' 
quire  demonstration   which  assert  any  thing  paradoxical, 

are  wthout  an  epilogue.     But  of  these,  it  is  necessar; 

known     K  '  n      '  '"  ^^"^^l"^"'^^  of  being  previously 
known  should  require  no  epilogue,  such  as  for  instance! 
Health    as  it  appears  to  us,  is  the  best  of  things  to 
man.       Por  thus  it  appears  to  the  many.     But  other 
sentences  as  soon  as  they  are  spoken  become  manifest  to 
hose  that  consider  them;  such  as,  «  There  is  no  lover 
who  does  not  always  love." '     Of  sentences,  however 
which  are  with  an  epilogue,  some  indeed  are  the  parts  of 
an  enthymeme ;  as,  «  It  does  not  become  a  man  of  a 
sound  mhd."     But  other.:  ar«  ^r.,u  • 

not  a  n..t  r.f      ^"^  °'^^'^'  ^'^^  enthymematic.  yet  are 

aporoiTd       tT  '""^y"^^"^'  -'^^^halso  are  especially 

ofX         .  '"  ""^'""^^^  '"   "f^'^^h   the   cause 

otuhatissaidisapparem;  as  in  the  following,  -Being 
a  mortal  do  not  retain  an  immortal  anger." '   ^For  to  4! 

but  tieTd?  •°^''  'V'''*"  '"S'''  ^'"^y^'"  '^  ^  «^ntence 
he  cause.     Similar  to  this  also  is  the  sentence,  «  It  is  fit 

;:;r:^:;^''^^^^^^^^"— ''-^-inim^^^^^^ 

From  what  has  been  said,  therefore,  it  is  manifest  how 

£un>Ss.'  "'"   """''^  "^^  '°  ^-^'-  -  the  Troades  of 
'  Thus  Achilles  in  Pope's  translation  of  the  Iliad. 
Why  should  (alas)  a  mortal  man,  as  I, 
Burn  with  a  fury  that  can  never  die  {  Book  xix 


CHAP.  XXII. 


RHETORIC* 


169 


many  species  there  are  of  a  sentence,  and  to  what  kind 
of  things  each  is  adapted.     For  in  things  of  a  dubious,  or 
paradoxical  nature,  a  sentence  is  not  to  be  used  without 
an  epilogue,  but  either,  an  epilogue  being  added,   the 
sentence  must  be  used  as  a  conclusion ;  as  if  any  one 
should  say,  "  I  indeed,  since  it  is  neither  proper  to  be 
envious,  nor  to  be  indolent,  assert  that  erudition  is  not 
requisite;'*  or,   this  being  previously  said,   the  former 
assertions  must  be  subjoined.      But  in  things  which  are 
not  paradoxical  indeed,  yet  are  immanifest,  the  why  or 
cause  must  be  most  concisely  added.     And  to  things  of 
this  kind  Laconic  apophthegms  and  enigmas  are  adapted  ; 
as  if  some  one  should  say  what  Stesichorus  said  among 
the  Locrians,  "  That  it  is  not  proper  to  behave  inso- 
lently, lest  the  grasshoppers  should  sing  on  the  ground." ' 
A  sententious  mode  of  speaking,  however,  is  adapted  to 
him  who  is  more  advanced  in  age ;  but  what  he  senten- 
tiously  says,  must  be  about  things  in  which  he  is  skilled. 
Hence,  it  is  unbecoming  for  one  who  is  not  so  advanced 
in  age  to  speak  sententiously,  in  the  same  manner  as  it  is 
for  him  to  mythologize.     But  for  a  man  to  speak  sen« 
tentiously  about  things  in  which  he  is  unskilled  is  foolish 
and  inerudite ;  of  which  this  is  a  sufficient  indication,  that 
rustics  are  especially  sententious,  and  easily  show  that  they 
are  so.     To  assert,  however,  universally,  that  which  is 
not  universally  true,  is  especially  adapted  to  lamentation 
and  amplification ;  and  in  this  case,  such  sentences  must 
be  adduced  either  at  the  beginning,  or  when  you  demon- 

'  Stesichorus  signified  by  this  enigma,  that  if  the  Locrians  be- 
haved insolently  to  a  powerful  people,  their  country  would  be  in 
danger  of  being  laid  waste  by  them,  so  that  the  trees  being  cut 
down,  the  grasshoppers  (cicada)  would  be  forced  to  sing  on  the 
bare  ground. 


170 


THE   ART   OF 


BOOK  II. 


strate.  But  it  is  requisite  to  employ  sentences  which 
are  generally  known  and  common,  if  they  are  useful  [for 
the  purpose ;]  for  in  consequence  of  being  common, 
as  being  acknowledged  by  all  men  they  appear  to  be 
true.  Thus  he  who  exhorts  soldiers  to  encounter  danger, 
though  they  have  not  sacrificed,  may  employ  fwhat 
Hector  says  to  Polydamas,] 

Without  a  sign  his  sword  the  brave  man  draws. 
And  asks  no  omen  but  his  country's  cause.' 

And  when  those  are  exhorted  to  fight  who  are  inferior 
to  their  opponents  in  force,  it  may  be  said. 

In  battle  Mars  to  either  side  inclines.* 

When  any  one  likewise  is  exhorted  to  destroy  the  chil. 
dren  of  enemies,  though  they  have  done  no  injury,  he 
may  say,  «  He  is  a  fool,  who   having  destroyed  the 
father  spares  the  children."    Farther  still,  some  proverbs 
are  also  sentences ;   such   as  the  proverb,  **  An  Attic 
stranger.-     Sentences  likewise  are  to  be  sometimes  ad- 
duced,  contrary  to  those  which  are  generally  received. 
But  I  mean  by  those  that  are  generally  received,  such  as 
Know  thyself,-  and  «  Nothing   too   much."     And 
sentences  contrary   to  these   are  to  be  adduced,  when 
either  the  manners  will  from  thence  seem  to  be  better 
or  when  the  thing  is  spoken  pathetically.     But  a  thins' 
IS  spoken  pathetically,  if  some  one  being  enraged  should 
say,    '  It  ,s  false  that  a  man  ought  to  know  himself:  for 
this  man,  if  he  had  known  himself,  would  never  have 
sohcited  the  command  of  the  army.''    And  the  manners 


'  Iliad,  12. 


Iliad,  18. 


CHAP.  XXII. 


RHETORIC. 


i7r 


will  appear  to  be  better,  if  it  is  said,  "  That  it  is  not  pro- 
per,  according  to  the  assertion  of  Bias,  to  love  as  if 
intending  hereafter  to  hate,  but  rather  to  hate  as  if 
intending  hereafter  to  love."  It  is  necessary,  however, 
to  render  the  choice  manifest  by  the  diction ;  but  if  not, 
to  subjoin  the  cause.  Thus  for  instance,  we  may  either 
thus  speak,  "  That  it  is  necessary  to  love,  not  as  they 
say,  but  as  if  always  intending  to  love  ;  for  the  other 
[i.  e.  he  who  loves  as  if  intending  hereafter  to  hate] 
loves  like  a  treacherous  person."  Or  thus,  "  What 
is  generally  asserted  does  not  please  me;  for  a  true 
friend  ought  to  love  as  one  who  will  love  always.  Nor 
does  that  saying  please  me,  Nothing  too  much  j  for  it  is 
necessary  to  hate  vehemently  bad  men." 

But  these  sentences  afford  great  assistance  to  orations, 
one  cause  of  which  arises  from  the  arrogance  of  the 
hearers ;  for  they  are  delighted  if  any  one  speaking  uni- 
versally,  happens  to  adduce  opinions  which  they  have 
formed  about  some  particular  things.  My  meaning, 
however,  will  be  manifest  from  what  follows ;  and  at  the 
same  time  it  will  be  evident  how  these  sentences  are  to 
be  investigated.  For  a  sentence  is,  as  we  have  said, 
a  universal  enunciation ;  but  the  auditors  are  delighted 
when  that  is  universally  asserted,  which  they  have  pre- 
conceived  partially.  Thus  for  instance,  if  any  one  hap- 
pens to  have  had  bad  neighbours  or  children,  he  will 
adopt  the  sentence,  "  That  nothing  is  more  trouble- 
some than  vicinity,-  and  "  That  nothing  is  more  stupid 
than  the  procreation  of  children."  Hence,  it  is  necessary 
to  conjecture  what  the  opinion  of  the  audience  will  be 
about  particulars,  and  afterwards  to  adduce  universal 
sentences  conformable  to  their  opinion.     And  this  is  one 


172 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  II. 


CHAP.  XXHI. 


RHETORIC. 


173 


use  which  speaking  sententiously  ought  to  possess.     But 
there  is  another  use,  of  it  which  is  superior  to  this ;  for 
it  causes  orations  to  become  ethical.     And  those  orations 
are  ethical  in  which  the  deliberate  intention  of  the  speaker 
IS  manifest     All  sentences,  however,  effect  this,  because 
he  who  employs  the  sentence,  speaks  universally  about 
things  which  are  the  objects  of  deliberate  choice.  Hence, 
if  the  sentences  are  good,  they  cause  the  speaker  to 
appear  to  be  one  who  possesses  worthy  manners.     And 
thus  much  concerning  a  sentence,  what  it  is,  how  many 
speaes  there  are  of  it,  how  sentences  are  to  be  eiifc 
ployed,  and  what  advantage  they  possess. 


CHAFrER  XXIII. 

Let  us  now  speak  concerning   enthymemes  univer- 

sally,  after  what  manner  they  are  to  be  investigated ; 

and  in  the  next  place,  let  us  show  what  are  the  places  of 

cnthymernes;  for  there  is  a  different -species  of  each  of 

hese.    That  an  enthymeme,  therefore,  is  a  certain  syl- 

Wn'  '".  ^"  ■'  "  ^  '^5'"^'^"''  "^  have  before 
risl'  V  V"  ''^''  "  ''■^"^  fr^""  '^^^^'^'^^  ¥10- 
ZZ.  ^.r^  "'  °"S'''  '^'"S^  '''^^''  '°  be  collected, 
foler  .'k"^k  '"^'  '^""ectively  assumed;  since  the 
former  will  be  obscure  from  their  length  ;  and  the  latter 


will  be  nugatory,  through  speaking  of  things  which  are 
obvious.  For  this  is  the  reason  why  the  unlearned  are 
more  capable  of  producing  persuasion  among  the  crowd, 
than  the  learned,  since  as  the  poets  say,  "  The  unlearned 
speak  more  elegantly  to  a  mob/'  For  the  unlearned 
speak  of  things  common  and  universal,  [which  are 
adapted  to  the  comprehension  of  the  multitude  ;]  but 
the  learned  speak  of  things  which  they  know,  and 
which  are  near.  Hence,  rhetorical  enthymemes  must 
not  be  composed  from  every  thing  which  is  probable,  but 
from  things  of  a  definite  nature ;  such  as  are  those  things 
which  appear  probable  to  the  judges,  or  which  the 
judges  admit.  Nor  is  it  requisite  that  these  things 
should  be  approved  by  all  the  auditors,  but  it  is  sufficient 
if  they  are  approved  by  the  greater  part  of  them.  It  is 
likewise  requisite  not  only  to  collect  from  things 
which  are  necessary,  but  also  from  things  which 
have  a  frequency  of  subsistence.  In  the  first  place, 
therefore,  it  is  necessary  to  assume,  that  concerning  the 
thing  of  which  it  is  requisite  to  speak  and  syllogize, 
whether  by  employing  a  political,  or  any  other  syl- 
logism ;  concerning  this  it  is  necessary  to  possess  all  or 
some  of  the  things  which  are  inherent  in  it ;  for  if  we  pos- 
sess none  of  them,  no  conclusion  can  be  made  from 
nothing.  I  say  for  instance,  how  can  we  advise  the 
Athenians  to  engage  in  war  or  not,  unless  we  know 
what  their  power  is,  whether  naval  or  land,  or  both; 
how  great  it  is ;  what  their  revenue  is ;  who  are  their 
friends  and  enemies ;  and  farther  still,  what  wars  they 
have  waged,  and  how  they  were  carried  on,  and  other 
things  of  the  like  kind.  How  likewise  could  we  praise 
them,  if  we  were  not  acquainted  with  the  naval  battle  at 
Salamis,  or  the  battle  at  Marathon,  or  the  deeds  which 


174 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  II. 


they  performed  for  the  Heraclid^.  or  any  thing  else  of 
the  hke  kind  ?     For  all  men  praise  others  from  beautiful 
transactions  which  exist,  or  appear  to  exist.     In  a  similar 
manner,  also,  m  blaming  the  Athenians,  we  must  direct 
our  attention  to  the  contraries  to  these  things,  consider, 
ing  what  particular  of  a  contrary  kind  pertains  to  them, 
or  appears  to  pertain  to  them;  such  as  that  they  en- 
slaved  the  Greeks,  and  subdued  those  who  fought  with 
them  agamst  the  Barbarian,  and  behaved  most  inLpidly, 
T!i'^T"'^  and  Potidceat^ ;  and  other  things  of 
tti    cL;L  '  ^!l',"'^^^-- °^her  crime  may  be  laid  to 
their  charge      Thus  too,  both  those  who  accuse,  and 
hose  who  defend,  accuse  and  defend  by  directing  their 
attention  to  mherent  particulars ;  but  it  makes  no  differ- 

^1  fr  T  '^''^  °^  ''''  ^^'^^^  -  Laced^n^o- 
nians ;  of  God  or  man.  For  he  who  advises  Achilles, 
who  praises  or  blames,  accuses  or  defends  him,  must  as! 

that  from  these  he  may  m  praising  or  blaming  show  whe 

her  any  thing  beautiful  in  conduct  or  base  is  inherent; 

m  accusing  or  defending  may  show  whether  any  thing  jus 

or  unjust  is  mherent;  and  in  advising,  whether  any  thing 

advantageous  or  detrimental  is  present.    The  like  method 

must  also  be  adopted  in  every  other  thing.    Thus  for  in- 

stance,  m  mvestigating  whether  justice  is  good  or  not  our 

attention  must  be  directed  to  whit  is  inherL  in  jusdte  o" 

m  good.  Hence  since  it  appears  that  this  method  is  adopted 

by  all  men,  whether  they  syllogize  more  accurately!  or 

from  jfr  '\'"  ;'^''  "^""p^'^-  -^  -^  ^^ 

from  a  1  things,  but  from  such  as  are  inherent  in  each 
tEtoth  -^'""S'  .'■"""'"^^  ^'"^^  "  '«  -'i-' 
prove, -this  being  the  case,  it  is  obvious,  as  we  have 


CHAP.  XXIII. 


RHETORIC. 


1  *7r 


$hown  in  the  Topics,  that  about  each  question  in  things 
contingent,  and  the  time  best  adapted  to   them,   it   is 
necessary  to  have,  in  the  first  place,  things  of  a  more 
select  nature.    The  investigation,  likewise,  must  be  made 
after  the   same   manner  in  things   of  an  unexpected 
nature,  so  that  our  attention  must  not  be  directed  to  the 
indefinite,  but  to  things  inherent,  which  are  the  subject 
of  the  oration.     Of  the  things  inherent,  likewise,  the 
greater  part,  and  those  which  are  nearest  the  subject, 
must  be  included  in  the  oration ;  for  by  how  much  the 
greater  the   number   of  things   inherent  is  which   the 
orator  possesses,  by  so  much  more  easily  will  he  prove 
that  which  he  wishes  to  prove ;  and  by  how  much  more 
proximate  Qhe  particulars  are  which  he  details,]  by  so 
much  the  mdi?e  appropriate  will  they  be,  and  less  com- 
mon.    But  I  call  common  things,  indeed,  such  as   to 
praise  Achilles,  because  he  is  a  man,  and  because  he  is 
among  the  number  of  demigods,  and  because  he  fought 
against  Troy.     For  these  particulars  belong  also  to  many 
others ;  so  that  praise  of  this  kind  no  less  pertains  to 
Achilles  than  to  Diomed.     Things  peculiar,   how^ever, 
are  such  as  happen  to  no  other  person,  than  Achilles ; 
such  as  to  have  slain  Hector  the  bravest  of  the  Trojans  ; 
and   Cygnus,    who    being    invulnerable   prevented   the 
Greeks  from  descending  from  their  ships  to  the  land ; 
and  that  being  very  young  he  entered  into  the  army, 
though  he  was  not  bound  by  an  oath  to  fight  against  the 
Trojans.     These,  and  other  things  of  the  like  kind,  are 
peculiar   to   Achilles.      This,   therefore,   is   one    place 
of  selection,  and  is  the  first  topical  place. 


^6 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  II. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


Let  us  now  speak  of  the  elements  of  enthymemes 

But  I  call  the  same  thing  the  element  and  place  o7an  et 

thymeme      Let  us  however  first  speak  of  those  things 

which  It  IS  necessary  in  .he  first  place  to  discuss.     Fo'r 

here  are  two  species  of  enthymemes.     And  the  first  spe- 

aes  contains  ostensive  enthymemes,  which  show  that  a 

thmg  IS  or  IS  not ;  but  the  other  species  is  adapted  to 

confutation.     They  differ  also  in  the  same  manner  as  n 

dialectics  an  elenchus  and  syllogism  differ.      But  an  o" 

Wth  'T%"'"''"  the  conclusion  is  collected 
from  th.ngs  acknowledged ;  and  the  enthymeme  adapted 
to  confutation  is.  when  things  not  acknowledged  are  col- 
lected  in  the  conclusion.     Nearly,  therefore,  places  have 

LTv'st?"?^  "  ^'°"  ''''  ^'  ^'^^  "-f^'  -'i  -ces! 

slcted  y  '"r"""^  ^"P^^""g  ^-'^  f^-^  been 
selected.     Hence,  we  have  shown  from  what  places  it  is 

requisite  to  derive  enthymemes  about  good  or  evi ,  iie 

beautiful  or  the  base,  the  just,  or  the  unjust;  and  in  a 

^r  manT"  ''""  '"I  '^^"  ^^^'S-'^  ^X  -  -nc  "rn 
mg  manners,  passions  and  habits. 

we  should  assume  umversally  concerning  all  [the  three 


CHAP.   XXIV. 


RHETORIC. 


177 


genera  of  orations,]  indicating  which  of  them  are  adapted 
to  confutation,  and  are  ostensive,  and  what  are  the  places 
of  apparent  enthymemes,  but  which  are  not  enthymemes 
m  reah'ty,  since  neither  are  they  syllogisms.  But  these 
things  being  rendered  manifest,  we  shall  discuss  solutions 
and  objections,  and  show  whence  it  is  requisite  to  adduce 
these  against  enthymemes. 

.      One  place,  therefore,  of  ostensive  enthymemes  is  from 
contraries ;  for  it  is  necessary  to  consider  whether  one 
contrary  is   inherent  in  another ;  subverting,  indeed,  if 
It  be  not  inherent ;  but  confirming  if  it  is  inherent.    For 
mstance,  [we  may  thus  show]  that  to  act  temperately  is 
good  ;  for  to  act  intemperately  is  noxious.     Or  as  in  the 
Messeniac  oration  [of  Alcidamas  ;]  for  if  war  is  the  cause 
of  the  present  evils,  it  is  necessary  to  correct  those  evils 
with  peace.     For  [as  a   certain  tragic  poet   argues   in 
Greek  senaries,]  '^  If  it  is  not  just  to  fall  into  anger  with 
those  who  have  done  evil  willingly ;  neither  is  it  fit,  if 
any  one  has  acted  beneficently  from  compulsion,  to  be 
grateful  to  him.'*    But  if  to  speak  falsely  is,  among  mor- 
tals,  calculated  to  persuade,  it  is  requisite  to  think  that 
on  the  contrary  many  things  are  true,   which  are  consi- 
dered by  mortals  as  incredible.     Another  place  is  from 
similar  cases  ;  for   it  is  necessary  that  they  should  be 
similarly  inherent,  or  not  inherent.     Thus  from  this  place 
it  may  be  shown  that  not  every  thing  which   is  just  is 
good.     For  if  every  thing  just  were  eligible  and  good, 
every  thing  which  is  justly  done  would  be  eligible  and 
good;  but  now  to  die  justly  is  not  eligible.     Another 
place  is  from  relatives.     For  if  some  one  has  acted  well 
or  justly,  another  has  suffered  well  or  justly.     And  if  to 
command  is  just,  it  is  also  just  to  obey  the  command ;  as 


Arisl. 


VOL.  I. 


in 


178 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  II. 


the  publican  Diomedon  said  about  the  tributes.  "  For, 
irid  he  [to  the  people,]  if  it  is  not  disgraceful  in  you  to 
sell  the  tributes,  neither  is  it  disgraceful  in  us  to  buy 
them."  And,  if  one  man  deservedly  and  justly  suffers 
a  loss,  he  who  caused  him  to  suffer  it,  acted  well  and 
justly.  And  if  he  who  caused  another  to  suffer  a  loss 
acted  well  and  justly,  he  who  sustained  the  loss,  sus- 
tained it  well  and  justly.  In  this  place,  however,  it  is 
possible  to  paralogize.  For  if  a  man  died  justly,  he 
suffered  justly ;  but  perhaps  not  by  you.  Hence  it  is 
necessary  to  consider  separately,  whether  he  who  suffered 
deserved  to  suffer,  and  whether  he  who  did  the  thing 
deserved  to  do  it,  and  thus  to  infer  what  is  adapted  and 
appropriate.  For  sometimes  a  thing  of  this  kind  is  disso- 
nant, and  nothing  impedes ; '  as  in  the  Alcmseon  of 
Theodectes. 

•*  Did  never  any  mortal  hate  thy  mother  ?" 

To  which  the  answer  is, 


«  Distinctly  this  must  be  considered." 

Alphesibaea,  also,  inquiring,  "  How  therefore  have  the 
judges  condemned  thee  ?"  Alcmseon  answered, 

"Of  death  deserving  she  was  judg'd,  but  I, 
'Tvvas  said,  could  not  have  slain  my  mother.'* 

Thus,  likewise,  on  the  trial  of  Demosthenes,  and  those 
who  slew  Nicanor,  because  they  were  judged  to  have 

it 

'  That  is,  it  may  happen  that  a  man  was  slain  justly,  and  yet  hi 
who  slew  him,  slew  him  unjustly^ 


CHAP.  XXIV. 


RHETORIC. 


179 


slain  him  justly,  it  appeared  that  he   wa€  justly  put  to 
death.     In  like  manner,  when  a  certain  person  was  slain 
at  Thebes,  it  was  inquired  in  the  court  of  justice  whether 
he  had  been  unjustly  slain ;  as   if  it  were  not  unjust  to 
slay  him  who   deserved  to  die.     Another  place  is  from 
the  more  and  the  less ;  such  as,  if  even   the  gods  do 
not  know  all  things,  much  less  do  men.     For  the  mean-- 
|ng  of  this  is,  if  the  more  is  not  inherent  in  that  in  which 
It  ought  to  be  more  inherent,  it   is  evident  that  neither 
will  it  be  inherent  in  that  in  which  the  less  is  inherent. 
But  this  place,   that  he  will  strike  his  neighbour  who 
strikes  his  father,  depends  on  this,  that  if  the  less  is  inhe- 
rent,  the  more  also  will  be  inherent.'     And  this  place  is 
useful  for  both  purposes  ;  viz.  whether  it  be  requisite  to 
show  that  a  thing  is  inherent,  or  is  not.     Farther  still, 
if  a  thing  is  inherent  neither  more  nor  less  ;  whence  it  is 
said,   [in  a  certain  tragedy,]  «  Is  thy  father  to  be  pitied, 
because  he  has  lost  a  son,  and  is  not  Oeneus  to  be  equally 
commiserated,  who  has  lost  his  son  Meleager  one  of  the 
most  illustrious  of  the  Greeks .?"  And  that  if  Theseus  did 
not  act  unjustly  [in  ravishing  Helen,]  neither  did  Paris. 
And  if  the  Tyndaridac  [i.  e.  Castor  and  Pollux]  did  not 
act  unjustly  [in  ravishing  the  daughters  of  Leucippus,] 
neither  did  Paris.     Likewise  if  Hector  did   not  act  un- 
justly in  slaying  Patroclus,  neither  did  Paris  in  slaying 
Achilles.     And  if  other  artists  are  not  vile  men,  neither 
are  philosophers.     And  if  generals  are  not  vile,  because 
they  are  frequently  conquered,  neither  are  sophists.  And 
that  if  a  private  person  ought  to  be  careful  of  your  re- 


■  For  It  is  less  probable  that  a  man  will  strike  his  father,  than 
that  he  will  strike  his  neighbour  j  at  least  it  tvas  so  in  ancient  times. 


180 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  II. 


CHAP.  XXIV. 


RHETORIC. 


181 


nown,  you  also  ought  to  be  careful  of  the  renown  of  the 
Greeks.  Another  place  consists  in  the  consideration  of 
time;  as  is  exemplified  in  what  Iphicrates  says  in  his  ora- 
tion against  Harmodius.  For  said  he,  '*  If  before  I  had 
done  the  thing,  I  had  demanded  a  statue  in  case  I  did  it, 
yon  would  have  granted  it  to  me,  and  will  you  not  grant 
it,  now  I  have  done  the  thing  ?  You  would  not,  there- 
fore, when  expecting  a  benefit  promise  a  reward,  and 
refuse  it,  when  you  have  received  the  benefit,'*  And 
again,  for  the  purpose  of  persuading  that  the  Thebans 
ought  to  permit  Philip  to  pass  through  their  land  into 
Attica,  it  may  be  said,  "  That  if  he  had  made  this  re- 
quest before  he  sent  you  assistance  against  the  Phocenses, 
you  would  have  permitted  him.  "  It  is  absurd,  therefore, 
that  because  he  then  neglected  [to  ask  permission,]  and 
trusted  you  would  grant  it,  that  you  should  now  deny  it 
to  him.'*  Another  place  is  taken  from  things  said,  and 
retorted  on  the  speaker.  And  this  mode  is  eminently 
useful,  and  was  employed  in  [the  tragedy  of  ]  Teucrus 
by  Iphicrates  against  Aristophon,  when  he  inquired  of 
him  whether  he  would  have  betrayed  the  ships  for  money? 
And  when  Aristophon  denied  that  he  would,  Iphicrates 
afterwards  said,  "  You  therefore  being  Aristophon  would 
not  have  betrayed  them,  and  should  I  being  Iphicrates 
have  betrayed  them  ?"  It  is  necessary,  however, 
that  he  who  is  opposed  should  appear  to  have  acted 
more  unjustly  than  the  opponent ;  for  if  not,  it 
would  seem  to  be  ridiculous,  if  any  one  had  said 
this  against  Aristides  accusing  [who  was  hi  every  respect 
worthy  of  belief,]  and  which  ought  to  have  been  said 
against  an  accuser,  who  did  not  deserve  to  be  credited.  For 
in  short  the  plaintiff  ought  to  be  considered  as  better  than 
the  defend^it.      He  therefore   who   opposes  another. 


should   always  reprobate   this.     And   universally,  that 
which  is  said  is  absurd,  when  any  one  reproves  others  in 
things  which  he  himself  does,  or  would  have  done  pf 
he  could ;]  or  who  persuades  others  to  do  those  things 
which  he  himself  does  not  do,  nor  would  have  done. 
Another  place  is  derived  from  definition ;  such  for  in- 
stance as,  "  That  which  is  dsemoniacal  is  nothing  else 
than  either  God,  or  the  work  of  God ;  but  whoever 
thinks  that  it  is  the  work  of  God,  must  necessarily  think 
that  there  are  Gods."'     And  as  Iphicrates  said  [against 
a  certain  person  named  Harmodius,]    "  He  who  is  the 
best  of  men  is  most  generous  or  noble ;   for  there  was 
nothing  generous  in  Harmodius  and  Aristogiton,  till  they 
had   accomplished   some   generous   undertaking."     He 
added,  that  he  was  more  allied  to  [i.  e.  he  more  resem- 
bled]  the  ancient  Harmodius.  "  For  my  works,"  said  he, 
"are  more  allied  to  the  works  of  Harmodius  and  Aristo- 
giton  than  thine."     And  as  in  •  [the  oration  concerning] 
Paris,  ''  All  men  will  confess  that  those  who  are  intern- 
perate  are  not  satisfied  with  the  enjoyment  of  one  body." 
Hence  Socrates  said  that  he  would  not  go  to  Archelaus 
[king  of  Macedonia.]     «  For  it  is  disgraceful,"  said  he, 
"  for  him  who  has  received  a  benefit  not  to  be  able  to 
recompense  him  from  whom  he  received  it ;  just  as  it 
is  disgraceful  in  him  who  has  been  used  ill,  not  to  return 
the  ill  treatment."     For  all  these,  defining  and  assuming 
what  a  thing  is,  syllogize  about  the  things  which  are  the 
subjects  of  their  speech.     Another  place  is  derived  from 
multiplicity  of  diction,  as  in  the  Topics,  [an  argument  is 

'  This  IS  what  Socrates  says  to  his  judges  in  the  Apology  of 
Plato,  and  is  of  itself  sufficient  to  prove  that  Socrates  was  a  poly- 
theist,  independent  of  a  great  body  of  evidence  which  might  be 
adduced  in  confirmation  of  it. 


^I 


182 


THE    ART    or 


BOOK  II. 


derived,]  from  that  which  has  a  rectitude  of  subsistence 
[being  multifariously  predicated.]  Another  place  is 
derived  from  division ;  as,  if  all  men  act  unjustly  for 
the  sake  of  three  things ;  for  they  act  unjustly  either  for 
the  sake  of  this,  [viz.  utility,]  or  for  the  sake  of  this, 
[viz.  pleasure,]  or  for  the  sake  of  this,  [viz.  because 
they  are  enraged ;]  but  for  the  sake  of  two  of  these  they 
could  not  do  the  injury ;  and  the  opponents  themselves 
confess  they  did  not  do  it  for  the  sake  of  the  third. 
Another  place  is  from  induction ;  as  from  [the  oration 
inscribed]  Peparethia,  in  which  it  is  said,  "  That  women 
every  where  determine  truly  about  the  birth  of  children." 
For  this  is  evident  from  what  happened  at  Athens ;  since 
when  Mantias  the  rhetorician  was  dubious  about  his  son, 
his  doubts  were  dissolved  by  the  mother  of  the  child. 
This  likewise  happened  at  Thebes ;  for  when  Ismenes 
and  Stilbo  contended  which  of  them  was  the  father  of 
Thessalicus,  Dodonis  demonstrated  that  he  was  the  son 
of  Ismenes ;  and  on  this  account  Thessalicus  was  con- 
sidered as  the  offspring  of  Ismenes.  And  again,  from 
the  law  of  Theodectes,  if  no  one  would  commit  his 
horses  to  the  care  of  those  who  do  not  pay  a  proper 
attention  to  the  horses  of  others,  nor  his  ships  to  those 
who  destroy  the  ships  of  others,  and  if  the  like  takes 
place  in  all  things,  we  ought  not  to  commit  our  safety  to 
those  who  have  badly  attended  to  the  safety  of  others. 
And ^ as  Alcidamas  says,  "That  all  men  honour  the 
wise.'*  For  the  Parians  honour  Archilochus,  though  he 
blasphemed  them ;  the  Chians  honour  Homer,  though 
he  was  not  their  fellow.citizen ;  and  the  Mitylenans 
Sappho,  though  she  was  a  woman.  The  Lacedemonians, 
^Iso,  though  they  were  in  the  smallest  degree  philologists, 
made  Chilo  one  of  their  senators.     The  Italians  likewise 


CHAP.  XXIV. 


RHETORIC. 


18S 


honoured  Pythagoras;  and  the  Lampsaceni  buried 
Anaxagoras  though  he  was  a  stranger,  and  honour  him 
even  now.  Again,  the  Athenians  by  using  the  laws  of 
Solon  were  happy ;  and  the  Lacedaemonians  by  using 
those  of  Lycurgus.  The  city  of  the  Thebans,  also, 
as  soon  as  philosophers  were  their  governors,  became 
happy. 


>  Another  place  is  derived  from  the  judgment  made 
about  the  same,  or  a  similar,  or  a  contrary  thing.  And 
this  indeed  is  especially  the  case,  if  it  is  the  judgment 
of  all  men,  and  always ;  but  if  not,  if  it  is  the  judg- 
ment of  most  men,  or  of  all,  or  the  greater  part  of  wise 
men,  or  of  good  men.  Or  if  it  is  the  decision  of  those 
who  are  judges,  or  of  those  whom  the  judges  approve, 
or  of  those  against  whom  there  is  no  judgment  to  be 
given,  as  of  princes  ;  or  of  those  whose  judgment  it  is 
not  becoming  to  oppose,  such  as  the  gods,  a  father,  or 
preceptors.  [But  of  this  place  there  are  many  examples,] 
and  one  is,  what  Autocles  said  against  Mixidemides,  "  If 
it  were  well  indeed  for  the  venerable  goddesses  [the 
Furies]  to  plead  their  cause  in  the  Areopagus,  can  it  be 
improper  for  Mixidemides  to  do  so  ?'*  Another  is  what 
Sappho  said,  "  That  to  die  is  an  evil ;  for  the  gods  have 
judged  it  to  be  so  ;  since  otherwise,  they  themselves 
would  die."  Another  is,  what  Aristippus  said  against 
Plato  asserting  something  as  he  thought  too  positively ; 
*'  But  our  associate,  said  he,  meaning  Socrates,  affirms 
mo  such  thing."  Another  example  is  that  of  Agesipolis, 
who  at  Delphi  inquired  of  the  god  [Apollo,]  having 
prior  to  this  consulted  the  oracle  of  Jupiter  Olympus, 
y  Whether  the  son  was  of  the  same  opinion  as  the  father?'* 
As  if  it  were  shameful  for  a  son  to  dissent  from  his  father* 


182 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  II. 


derived,]  from  that  which  has  a  rectitude  of  subsistence 
[being  multifariously  predicated.]  Another  place  is 
derived  from  division  ;  as,  if  all  men  act  unjustly  for 
the  sake  of  three  things ;  for  they  act  unjustly  either  for 
the  sake  of  this,  [vi2.  utility,]  or  for  the  sake  of  this, 
[viz.  pleasure,]  or  for  the  sake  of  this,  [viz.  because 
they  are  enraged ;]  but  for  the  sake  of  two  of  these  they 
could  not  do  the  injury ;  and  the  opponents  themselves 
confess  they  did  not  do  it  for  the  sake  of  the  third. 
Another  place  is  from  induction ;  as  from  [the  oration 
inscribed]  Peparethia,  in  which  it  is  said,  "  That  women 
every  where  determine  truly  about  the  birth  of  children." 
For  this  is  evident  from  what  happened  at  Athens ;  since 
when  Mantias  the  rhetorician  was  dubious  about  his  son, 
his  doubts  were  dissolved  by  the  mother  of  the  child. 
This  likewise  happened  at  Thebes ;  for  when  Ismenes 
and  Stilbo  contended  which  of  them  was  the  father  of 
Thessalicus,  Dodonis  demonstrated  that  he  was  the  son 
of  Ismenes ;  and  on  this  account  Thessalicus  was  con- 
sidered as  the  offspring  of  Ismenes.  And  again,  from 
the  law  of  Theodectes,  if  no  one  would  commit  his 
horses  to  the  care  of  those  who  do  not  pay  a  proper 
attention  to  the  horses  of  others,  nor  his  ships  to  those 
who  destroy  the  ships  of  others,  and  if  the  like  takes 
place  in  all  things,  we  ought  not  to  commit  our  safety  to 
those  who  have  badly  attended  to  the  safety  of  others. 
And ^ as  Alcidamas  says,  "That  all  men  honour  the 
wise."  For  the  Parians  honour  Archilochus,  though  he 
btephemed  them ;  the  Chians  honour  Homer,  though 
he  was  not  their  fellow.citizen ;  and  the  Mitylenans 
Sappho,  though  she  was  a  woman.  The  Lacedemonians, 
^Iso,  though  they  were  in  the  smallest  degree  philologists, 
made  Chilo  one  of  their  senators.     The  Italians  likewise 


CHAP.  XXIV. 


RHETORIC. 


183 


honoured  Pythagoras;  and  the  Lampsaceni  buried 
Anaxagoras  though  he  was  a  stranger,  and  honour  him 
even  now.  Again,  the  Athenians  by  using  the  laws  of 
Solon  were  happy ;  and  the  Lacedaemonians  by  using 
those  of  Lycurgus.  The  city  of  the  Thebans,  also, 
as  soon  as  philosophers  were  their  governors,  became 
happy. 


-  Another  place  is  derived  from  the  judgment  made 
about  the  same,  or  a  similar,  or  a  contrary  thing.  And 
this  indeed  is  especially  the  case,  if  it  is  the  judgment 
of  all  men,  and  always ;  but  if  not,  if  it  is  the  judg- 
ment  of  most  men,  or  of  all,  or  the  greater  part  of  wise 
men,  or  of  good  men.  Or  if  it  is  the  decision  of  those 
who  are  judges,  or  of  those  whom  the  judges  approve, 
or  of  those  against  whom  there  is  no  judgment  to  be 
given,  as  of  princes ;  or  of  those  whose  judgment  it  is 
not  becoming  to  oppose,  such  as  the  gods,  a  father,  or 
preceptors.  [But  of  this  place  there  are  many  examples,] 
and  one  is,  what  Autocles  said  against  Mixidemides,  *'  If 
it  were  well  indeed  for  the  venerable  goddesses  [the 
Furies]  to  plead  their  cause  in  the  Areopagus,  can  it  be 
improper  for  Mixidemides  to  do  so  ?"  Another  is  what 
Sappho  said,  "  That  to  die  is  an  evil ;  for  the  gods  have 
judged  it  to  be  so ;  since  otherwise,  they  themselves 
would  die."  Another  is,  what  Aristippus  said  against 
Plato  asserting  something  as  he  thought  too  positively ; 
*'  But  our  associate,  said  he,  meaning  Socrates,  affirms 
mo  such  thing."  Another  example  is  that  of  Agesipolis, 
who  at  Delphi  inquired  of  the  god  [Apollo,]  having 
prior  to  this  consulted  the  oracle  of  Jupiter  Olympus, 
**  Whether  the  son  was  of  the  same  opinion  as  the  father?'* 
As  if  it  were  shameful  for  a  son  to  dissent  from  his  father 


184 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  lU 


Another  is   that  of  Isocrates  concerning   Helen,   who 
shows  that  she  was  a  worthy  character,  because  Theseus 
judged  her  to  be  so  ;  and  who  also  says  the  same  thiW 
ot  Pans   because  the  goddesses  preferred  [his  judgment 
to  that  of  other  men,]    He  likewise  asserts  that  Evagoras 
was  a  worthy  character,  -  because  Conon  when  his  affairs 
were  adverse,  leaving  every  one  else,  came  to  Evagoras  " 
Another  place  is  from  [the  enumeration  of]  parts,  as  in 
the  Topics  [where  it  is  inquired,]  "  What  kind  of  mo- 
tion  the  soul  is;"  for  it  is  either  this,  or  that,  [viz.  it 
must  euher  be  the  motion  which  is  a  change  in  quality, 
or  lation,    or  augmentation,  or  generation.]^     An  ex- 
ample of  this  place  is  from  Theodectes  in  his  oration  in 
defence    of  Socrates   [when    he   was   accused   by   the 
judges;]  *'What  temple  has  Socrates   violated  ?  And 
what  gods  has  he  not  reverenced  among  those  whose 
honours  are  legally  established  by  the  city  ?"  Another 
place  IS  from  consequent  good  or  evil.     For  since  in 
most  thmgs  It  happens  that  some  good  and  evil  are  con- 
sequent to  them,   we  may  employ  consequent  good  for 
the  purpose  of  persuading,  praising,  and  defending,  but 
consequent  evils  for  the  purpose  of  dissuading,  blaming, 
and  accusing,    1  hus  for  instance,  [we  may  blame  literary 
pursuus,]  because  envy  is  consequent  to  erudition,  which 
IS  an  evil ;  and  [we  may  also  prais,  them]  because  they 
are  attended  with  wisdom,  which  is  a  good.     Hence,  in 
the  former  case  we  may  say  that  it  is  not  proper  to  ac 
qmre  erudition,  because  it  is  not  proper  to  be  envied ; 
jnd  m  the  latter,  that  it  is  proper  to  acquire  erudition 
tor  It  IS  requisite  to  be  wise,     In  this  place  the  art  of 

I'md^^'S''  '^'  ^JP^^h^^is  that  the  soul  is  a  motion  of  st^ch   a 
Imd,  as  some  one  of  the  corporeal  motions. 


CHAP.  XXIV. 


RHETORIC. 


^         18.; 


the  rhetorician  Calippus  consists^  to  which  he  added  what 
pertains  to  the  possible,  and  other  things,  of  which  we 
have  already  spoken.  Another  place  is,  when  about  two 
things, 'and  those  opposed  to  each  other,  it  is  requisite 
either  to  exhort  or  dissuade,  and  to  use  the  before-men- 
tioned place  in  both  ways.  But  it  differs  from  that  place 
in  this,  that  there  casual  things  are  opposed  ;  but  here 
contraries  only.  Thus  for  instance,  a  certain  priest 
would  not  suffer  his  son  to  speak  in  public.  "  For  if," 
said  he,  "  you  speak  what  is  just,  men  will  hate  you ;  but 
if  what  is  unjust,  the  gods."  It  is  necessary,  however, 
on  the  other  hand,  to  speak  in  public.  For  if  you  speak 
what  is  just,  the  gods  will  love  you  ;  but  if  what  is  un- 
just, men  will  love  you.  This,  however,  is  the  same  thing 
with  the  saying,  of  buying  oil  and  salt.  And  this  argu- 
ment may  be  retorted,  when  to  each  of  two  contraries 
good  and  evil  are  consequent,  each  being  contrary  to 
each.  Another  place  is,  because  the  same  things  are  not 
praised  openly  and  secretly ;  but  just  and  beautiful  things 
are  especially  praised  openly,  and  privately  men  are 
more  inclined  to  praise  what  is  advantageous.  One  of 
these,  therefore,  we  must  endeavour  to  collect.  For  this 
place  is  the  most  principal  of  paradoxes.  Another  place 
is  derived  from  analogy,  and  was  used  by  Iphicrates. 
For  when  the  Athenians  wished  to  compel  his  younger 
son,  because  he  was  large,  to  engage  in  public  service, 
Iphicrates  said,  *'  That  if  great  boys  were  to  be  con- 
sidered as  men,  little  men  should  be  decreed  to  be  boys." 
And  Theodectes  in  the  law  said,  '*  You  have  made  mer- 
cenaries, such  as  Strabaces  and  Charidemus,  citizens,  on 
account  of  their  probity  ;  but  you  have  not  made  exiles 
of  those  among  the  mercenaries,  who  have  acted  nefa- 
riously.'*   Another  place  is,  when,  in  consequence  of  the 


186 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  II. 


same  thing  following  from  two  things,  it  is  shown  that 
the  things  from  which  it  happens  to  follow  are  the  same. 
As  when  Xenophanes  said,  «  That  those  were  similarly 
impious,  who  assert  that  the  gods  were  generated,  and 
those  who  assert  that  they  die;  for  in  both  ways  it  hap- 
pens that  at  a  certain  time  the  gods  do  not  exist."     And 
in  short,  that  which  happens  from  each,  is  always  to  be 
assumed  as  the  same.     [This  place  was  also   used  by 
some  one  in  the  defence  of  Socrates ;  for   he  said,] 
•*  You  are  about  to  pass  sentence,  not  on  Socrates,  but 
on  his  pursuit,  whether  it  be  requisite  to  philosophize." 
And,  it  may  be  said,  ''  That  to  give  earth  and  water  is 
to  become  slaves ;  and  that  to  participate  of  common 
peace  is  to  do  what  is  commanded  to  be  done."     But 
whichever  of  these  is  useful  must  be  assumed.     Another 
place  is  derived  from  this,  that  the  same  men  do  not 
always  choose  the  same  thing  in  a  posterior  or  prior 
time,  but  conversely ;  as  in  this  enthymeme,     *^  If  when 
v;e  were  exiles  we  fought,  in  order  that  we  might  return ; 
shall  we,  having  returned,  fly,  in  order  that  we  may  not ' 
fight  ?"  For  at  one  time  the  Athenians  chose  to  fight, 
that  they  might  return  to  their  country,  and  at  another 
time  they  were  unwilling  to  leave  their  country  lest  they 
should  be  obliged  to  fight.     Another  place  is,  when  we 
affirm  any  thing  to  have  been  done  on  account  of  some 
cause,  through  which  it  might  have  been  done,  though 
it  was  not  in  reality  done  through  it ;  as  if  one  man 
should  give   something   to   another,   in   order   that  by 
{afterwards]  taking  it  away,  he  may  give  him  pain.  Hence, 
also  it  is  said  [in  a  certain  tragedy,]  «  The  d^mon  gives 

• 

'  This  example  is  tato  from  ^n  oration  of  JLysias  concemink 
tlie  Athenians^  ^ 


CHAPt  XXIV. 


RHETORIC. 


187 


great  prosperity  to  many,  yet  not  with  a  benevolent  in- 
tention, but  in  order  that  they  may  receive  more  conspi- 
cuous calamities.'*     And  in  the  Meleager  of  Antiphon, 
who  [that  he  might  praise  Meleager]  says,  "  There  was 
a  concourse  of  people  from  all  Greece,  not  for  the  pur- 
pose of  killing  the  boar,  but  fhat  they  might  be  witnesses 
©f  the  valour  of  Meleager."     Another  example  is  from 
the   Ajax   of  Theodectes,  in  which  it  is  said,   *'  That 
Diomed  preferred  Ulysses  [as  his  associate  in  the  noc- 
turnal adventure,]  not  for  the  purpose  of  honouring  him, 
but  that  he  might  have  one  to  attend  him  who  was  his 
inferior."     For  it  is  possible  he  might  have  thus  acted 
with  this  view.     Another  place  is  common  both  to  liti- 
gants and  counsellors,  aild  consists  in  considering  what- 
ever pertains  to  exhortation  and  dissuasion,  and  for  the 
sake  of  which  things  are  done  and  avoided ;  for  these 
are  such  as  ought   to  be  done  when  they  are  present. 
For  instance,  it  must  be  considered  whether  a  thing  is 
possible,  and  easy  to  be  effected,  and  whether  it  is  bene- 
ficial either  to   a  man  himself,  or  to  his  friends ;  or 
whether  it  is  noxious  and  pernicious  to  his  enemies,  or 
is  at  least  attended  with  greater  emolument  than  loss, 
And  exhortations  are  to  be  derived   from  these  places, 
and  dehortations  from  the  contraries.     From  the  sarae 
places  also  accusations  and  defences  may  be  derived; 
defence  indeed,  from  those  which  pertain  to  dissuasion, 
but  accusation  from  those  which  pertain  to  exhortation. 
And  in  this  place  the  whole  art  of  Pamphilus  and  Calip- 
pus  consists.    Another  place  is  derived  from  things  which 
appear  indeed  to  be  done,  but  are  incredible,  because 
they  would  not  be  credited,  unless  they  were,  or  nearly 
were  in  existence  ;  and  this  in  an  eminent  degree.     For 
whatever  is  done,  is  apprehended  to  be  done,  either  be- 


/ 


188 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  II, 


cause  It  has  been  truly  done  or  is  of  itself  credible,  and 
probable.     If,  therefore,  a  thing  is  incredible,  and  not 
probable,  it  will  be  true  that  it  has  been  done;'  for  it 
does  not  appear  to  have  been  done,  in  consequence  of 
being  probable  and  credible.     Thus  Androcles  Pitheus 
accusing  the  law  said,   (the  multitude  being  tumultuous 
whilst  he  was  speaking)  ^'The  laws  require  a  law  to 
correct  them."     For  fishes  also  require  salt,  though  it 
may  seem  neither  probable,  nor  credible,  that  animals 
nourished  m   salt,    should   require   salt.      And   olives 
require  oil ;   though  it  may  seem  incredible,  that  those 
things  from  which  oil  is  produced,  should  be  in  want 
or  oil. 


CHAPTER  XXV, 

Another  place  which  is  adapted  to  confutation,  is 
derived  from  considering  things  which  are  not  assented 
to ;  VIZ.  from  considering,  if  any  thing  is  not  admitted, 

'  ^:j;f "  ^  ^^^'"g  P^^tly  appears  to  have  been  done,  and  partly  seems 
incredible,  from  seeming  to  be  incredible,  it  may  be  concluded  tha 
t  has  been  truly  done,  by  reasoning  as  follows  :    Whatever  seem 
and'MT  ^-\-^^-  wears  so  because  it  is  of  itself  credS^e 

ZteZT^:'  \  ''T'  '  '^^  ""^^  ^^-  ^-^'     B-  this  thing 
appears  to  have  been  done,  and  not  because  it  is  of  itself  probablj 

since  ,t  ,s  rather  very  improbable.     Hence,  it  appears  to  have  uZ 
done,  because  it  has  truly  been  done 


CHAP.  XXV. 


RHETORIC. 


189 


from  all  times,  actions,  and  speeches.  And  this,  indeed, 
may  be  done  separately  in  the  person  of  the  opponent ; 
as,  "He  says  that  he  loves  you  [Athenians,]  and  yet  he 
has  conspired  with  the  thirty  [tyrants  against  his  coun- 
try."] And  separately  as  to  the  person  himself;  as, 
**  He  says  indeed,  that  I  am  litigious,  but  he  cannot  show 
that  I  ever  sued  any  man."  It  may  also  be  done  sepa- 
rately both  as  to  the  person  himself  and  his  opponent ; 
as,  "  And  this  man  indeed  never  lent  any  money,  but  I 
have  ransomed  many  of  you."  Another  place  is  useful 
with  respect  to  men  and  things  that  have  been  calum- 
niated, but  which  do  not  appear  to  have  deserved  it ; 
and  this  consists  in  assigning  the  cause  of  the  paradox. 
For  there  is  something  which  gave  rise  to  the  appear- 
ance. Thus  for  instance,  a  certain  woman  was  calum- 
niated with  reference  to  her  son  ;  for  in  consequence  of 
embracing  him,  it  seemed  as  if  she  had  connexion  w^ith 
the  lad;  But  the  cause  of  her  embracing  him  being 
assigned,  the  calumny  was  dissolved.  Thus  too,  in  the 
Ajax  of  Theodectes,  Ulysses  says  against  Ajax,  that 
though  he  is  braver  than  Ajax,  yet  he  does  not  seem  to 
be  so.  Another  place  is  derived  from  cause,  which  if  it 
exists,  the  effect  also  exists  ;  but  if  it  is  not,  neither  does 
the  effect  exist.  For  cause,  and  that  of  which  it  is  the 
cause,  subsist  together,  and  nothing  is  without  a  cause. 
Thus  Leodamas,  in  defending  himself  when  Thrasybulus 
accusing  him  said,  **  That  his  name  had  been  branded 
with  infamy  on  a  pillar  in  the  Acropolis,  but  the  inscrip- 
tion had  been  erased  by  the  thirty  tyrants,"  replied, 
"  That  this  was  not  possible  ;  for  if  it  had  taken  place, 
the  thirty  tyrants  would  have  placed  more  confidence  in 
him,  in  consequence  of  his  hatred  to  the  people  having 
been  inscribed  on  a  pillar,"    Another  place  is  from  cou- 


190 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  IT? 


sidenng  whether  it  was  or  is  possible  to  .dWse,  or  do, 
or  have  done  a  thing  better  than  it  was  advised  to  be,  or 
B,  or  was  done.     For  it  is  evident,  that  if  it  does  not 
thus  subsist,  ,t  was  not  done ;  since  no  one  willingly  and 
knowingly    deliberately    chooses   what    is   bad.      This 
pbce,   however,    is  false ;    for  frequently,   it   becomes 
afterwards  evident  how  it  was  possible  to  have  acted 
better,    though  this  was  before  immanifest.     Another 
place  IS  derived  from  considering  when  something  is  u,- 
tended  to  be  done,  contrary  to  what  has  been  done.' 
Ihus  Xenophanes  when  the  Eleans  asked  him,  "whether 
they^should  sacrifice  to  Leucothea,  and  lament  her,  or 
not,      advised  them,  /« If  they  thought  her  a  goddess, 
not  to  lament  her ;  but  if  a  mortal,  not  to  sacrifice  to 
her.       Another  place  is  derived  from  accusing  or  de- 
fending  errors.     Thus  for  instance,  in  the  Medaa  of 
the  poet  Carcmus,  some  persons  accuse  her  of  havine 
slam  her  children,  because  they  no  longer  appear  ;   rfor 
Medoea  erred  in  sending  away  her  sons)  but  she  defends 
herself  by  saying,  ««That  [if  she  had  intended  to  commit 
murder]  she   would   not  have  slain  her  children,  but 
Jason ;   for  in  not  slaying  Jason,  she  would  have  acted 
wrong,  even  if  she  had  done  the  other  thing   [i.  e.  slain 
her  children.]     This  place,  however,  and  species  of  en- 
thymeme,  formed  the  whole  prior  rhetorical  art  of  Theo- 
dorus.     Another  place  is  derived  from  name;  as  Sopho- 
cles Lot  a  certain  woman  named  Sidero], 

•Tii  clear  thou  iron  art,  and  beat'st  the  name. 

Thus  also  it  Is  usual  to  celebrate  the  gods  [from  the  sig- 
nihcation  of  their  names.]  Conon  likewise  called  Thm- 
sf/bulus,  audacious.     And  Herodicus  eaid  of  Thrasy. 


CHAP.  XXV. 


RHETORIC. 


191 


machus,  "  Thou  art  always  Thrasj/viachus  [i.  e.  bold  in 
Jigkt.2  ^^  =ilso  said  of  Polus,  "  You  are  always  Polus 
[i.  e.  a  colt.']  Herodicus  likewise  said  of  Draco  the 
legislator,  "  That  his  laws  were  not  the  laws  of  a  man, 
but  of  a  dragon  ;  for  they  were  severe."  Another  ex- 
ample is  derived  from  what  Hecuba  says  in  [the  Troades 
of]  Euripides,  when  speaking  of  Venus,  "  And  the  name 
of  the  goddess  [i.  e.  Aphrodite]  is  rightly  derived  from 
aphrosune  [i.  e.  folly.]  And  as  Chceremon  [the  comic 
poet]  says,  "  Pentheus  was  so  denominated  from  future 
calamity."  Those  enthymemes,  however,  which  are 
adapted  to  confutation,  are  more  approved  than  those 
that  are  ostensive ;  because  the  former  are  short  collec- 
tions of  contraries ;  but  parallels  are  more  obvious  to  the 
hearer.  Of  all  syllogisms,  however,  as  well  those  that 
are  adapted  to  confutation,  as  those  that  are  ostensive, 
those  especially  excite  perturbation  [in  the  auditors] 
which  manifest  themselves  as  soon  as  they  begin  to  be 
enunciated,  yet  not  because  their  meaning  is  superficial. 
For  the  auditors  are  at  the  same  time  delighted  that  they 
foresaw  from  the  beginning  what  would  follow.  This 
likewise  is  the  case  with  those  syllogisms  which  are  un- 
derstood as  soon  as  they  are  completely  enunciated. 


192 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  II. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


Since,  however,  it  is  possible  that  one  thing  may  be  a 
sy  bgism,  and  another  not,  but  only  appear  to  be  so  ;  it 
IS  likewise  necessary  with  respect  to  an  enthymeme,  that 
this  should  be,  and  that  should  not  be,  but  should  only 
appear  to  be  an  enthymeme  ;  since  an  enthymeme  also 
is  a  certam  syllogism. 

_    But  there  are  places  of  apparent  enthymemes ;  one 
indeed  m  the  diction  ;  and  of  this,  one  part,  as  in  dialec- 
tics, IS,  when  though  nothing  is  syllogistically  concluded, 
yet  at  the  last  it  is  inferred  :  It  is  not  therefore  this,  or 
|hat ;  or  it  necessarily  is  this  or  that.     What  also  is  said 
in  enthymemes  contortly  and  oppositely,  appears  to  be 
an  enthymeme.  [though  it  is  not  so  in  reality  ;]  for  such 
a  chction  IS  the  receptacle  of  enthymeme.     And  a  thing 
of  this  kmd  appears  to  be  from  the  figure  of  the  diction 
For  the  purpose  however  of  speaking  syllogistically  in 
the  diction.  It  IS  useful  to  produce  the  heads  of  many 
^llogisms.  as    "  These  he  saved,  others  he  avenged,  but 
he  hberated  the  Greeks."    For  each  of  these  is  'de^on- 
strated  from  others.    ^But  from  the  conjunction  of  these 
something  appears  to  be  effected.     Another  place  Tof 
apparent  enthymemes]  is  derived  from  equivocation ;  \s, 
If  some  one  should  say  « that  j.vf,  mus,  a  mou«  is  a 


CHAP.  XXVI. 


RHETORIC. 


193 


worthy  animal ;  for  the  mysteries  are  the  most  honour- 
able  of  all  initiatory  rites."     Or,  if  some  one  making  an 
encomium  on  a  dog,  should  also  comprehend  in  his  en- 
comium the  celestial  dog,  or  the  god  Pan,  because  Pindar 
says,  «*  O  blessed,  whom  the  Olympian  gods  call  the  all- 
various  dog  of  the  great  goddess."     Or  if  it  should  be 
said,  "  That  it  is  most  dishonourable  there  should  be  no 
dog,;  so  that  it  is  evident  that  a  dog  is  honourable:' 
And  to  say,  «  That  Hermes  is  the  most  communicative 
of  all  the  gods ;  for  he  alone  is  called  common  Hermes." 
Likewise  to  say,  «  That  logos  speech  is  most  ttorthy  ; 
because  good  men  are  worthy  not  of  riches,  but  of  logos 
speech  ;"  for  to  be  worthy  of  logos,  is  most  simply  pre- 
dicated. Another  place  consists  in  speaking  things  which 
are  separated,  conjunctively,  or  things  which  are  con- 
joined, disjunctively.     For  since  [each  of  these  modes  of 
speaking]  appears  to  be  the  same,  though  frequently  it 
is  not  the  same,  it  is  requisite  to  adopt  whichever  of 
these  is  more  useful.     The  first  example  of  this  place  is 
that  of  Euthydemus,  "To  know,  being  in  Sicily,  that 
there  is  a  three-banked  galley  in  the  Piraeus."  '    Another 
example  is  "  That  he  who  knows  the  elements  of  a  verse, 
knows  the  verse ;  for  a  verse  is  the  same  thing"  [as  the 
elements  from  which  it  is  composed.]   Another  example 
of  this  place  is,  «  That  since  twice  so  much  of  a  thing 
is  noxious,  neither  can  the  half  of  that  quantity  be  said 
to  be  salubrious  ;  for  it  is  absurd,  if  two  things  are  good, 
that  one  of  them  should  be  bad."     Thus,  therefore,  this 
place  is  useful  for  the  purpose  of  confutation.     But  it  is 

'   See  Chap.  v.  Book  ii.  of  ihe  Sophistical  Elenchi.     This  is 
only  true  disjunctively ;  since  it  is  asserted  of  some  one  who  at  one 
time  was  in  Sicily,  and  at  another  saw  the  galley  in  the  Pirseus. 
ArlsL  VOL.  I.  X 


194 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  II. 


ostensive  as  follows  ;  "  For  one  good  is  not  two  evils.** 
In  short,  this  place  is  paralogistic.  Again,  another  ex- 
ample is  that  of  Polycrates  respecting  Thrasybulus, 
*'  That  he  deposed  the  thirty  tyrants."  For  this  is  con- 
junctive. Or  what  is  said  in  the  Orestes  of  Theodectes  ; 
for  it  is  from  division,  [or  is  disjunctive,]  viz.  "  It  is  just 
that  she  who  killed  her  husband  should  die ;  and  it  is 
also  just  that  a  son  should  revenge  his  father.  It  is  just, 
therefore,  that  the  mother  [Clytemnestra]  should  be 
slain  by  the  son  [Orestes.]"  For  if  these  sentences  are 
conjoined,  the  conclusion  perhaps  will  no  longer  be  just. 
In  this  [sophism]  likewise,  there  is  a  fallacy  of  defect ; 
for  it  is  not  expressed  by  whom  it  is  just  that  the  mother 
should  be  slain. 

Another  place  consists  in  confirming  or  confuting  by 
exaggeration.  And  this  is  when  a  man  not  showing  that 
he  has  done  a  certain  deed,  amplifies  the  thing.  For 
thus  he  causes  it  to  appear  either  that  he  has  not  done 
the  deed,  when  he  who  defends  the  cause  amplifies,  or 
that  he  did  it  when  the  accuser  was  enraged.  Hence,  it 
is  not  an  enthymeme.  For  the  hearer  falsely  collects 
that  he  has  or  has  not  done  the  deed,  the  thing  not  being 
demonstrated.  Another  place  is  derived  from  a  sign  ; 
for  this  also  is  unsyllogistic.  As  if  some  one  should  say, 
•'  Lovers  are  advantageous  to  cities ;  for  the  love  of 
Harmodius  arid  Aristogiton  deposed  the  tyratit  Hippar- 
chus."  And,  likewise,  if  some  one  should  say,  "  That 
Dionysius  was  a  thief ;  for  he  was  a  depraved  character." 
For  this  is  unsyllogistic ;  since  not  every  depraved  cha- 
racter is  a  thief,  but  every  thief  is  a  depraved  character. 
Another  place  is  derived  from  that  which  is  accidental ; 
as  in  what  Polycrates  said  of  the  mice,  "  That  they  aided 


CHAP.  x:xvi. 


RHETORIC. 


195 


[the  city]  by  gnawing  the  bowstrings  [of  the  enemy.]" 
Or  if  some  one  should  say,  that  to  be  invited  to  supper 
is  a  most  honourable  thing  ;  for  Achilles,  in  consequence, 
of  not  being  invited  was  enraged  against  the  Greeks  in 
Tenedos.     But  he,  as  being  despised,  was  angry ;   and 
this  happened  because  he  was  not  invited.      Another 
place  is  derived  from  that  which  is  consequent ;  as  for 
instance,  in  what  is  said  of  Paris,   *'  That  he  was  mag- 
nanimous ;   for,  despising  an  association  with  the  multi- 
tude, he  dwelt  in  mount  Ida  by  himself."     For  because 
magnanimous  men  are  lovers  of  solitude,  Paris  also  may 
appear  to  be  magnanimous.     And,   "Since   a   certain 
person  decorates  himself,  and  wanders  by  night,  he  is  an 
adulterer  ;"  because  adulterers  also  are  men  of  this  kind. 
In  a  similar  manner  [it  may  be  proved  that]  mendicants 
and  exiles  are  happy.     "  Because  mendicants  sing  and 
dance  in  temples ;   and  because  it  is  permitted  exiles  to 
dwell  where  they  please."    For  because,  these  things  are 
present  with  those  that  appear  to  be  happy,  those  also  to 
whom  these  things  are  present,  may  seem  to  be  happy. 
There  is  here  however  a  difference  in  the  mode ;  on 
which  account  this  example  falls  into  defect,  [i.  e.  it  is  a 
fallacy  of  defect.]     Another  place  is  derived  from  that 
which  is  causeless  as  if  it  were  a  cause ;  as  when  that 
which  is  done  together  with  another  thing,  or  after  it,  is 
assumed  as  if  it  had  been  done  for  the  sake  of  it.     And 
this  place  is  especially  used  by  politicians,  as  by  Demades, 
who  said,     "That  the  administration  of  Demosthenes 
was  the  cause  of  all  evils ;  since  war  happened  after  it." 
Another  place  is  derived  from  a  deficiency  in  the  time 
when,  and  the  manner  in  which  a  thing  is  done ;   such 
for  instance  as  this,  "  That  Paris  justly  ravished  Helen ; 
for  the  choice  was  given  to  Helen  by  her  father  [of 


196 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOR  11. 


marrying  whom  she  pleased.]**  For  perhaps  this  choice 
was  not  given  to  her  always,  but  at  first ;  and  the  autho- 
rity of  her  father  over  her  extended  so  far  ^  to  this. 
Or  as  if  some  one  should  say^  "  That  to  strike  free  men 
is  insolence."  For  it  is  not  entirely  so,  but  when  he  who 
strikes  was  not  provoked.  Farther  still,  another  place  is 
when  in  litigious  disputes,  an  apparent  syllogism  is  pro- 
duced from  that  which  is  simply,  and  that  which  is  not 
simply ;  as  in  dialectics,  it  is  shown  that  non-being  is 
being.  For  non-being  is  non-being.  And  it  is  also 
shown  that  what  is  unknown  is  the  object  of  science. 
For  the  unknown  is  the  object  of  science,  because  it  is 
unknown,  [i.  e.  because  it  is  known  that  it  is  unknown.] 
Thus  also  in  orations  there  is  an  apparent  enthymeme, 
from  that  which  is  not  simpjy  probable,  but  is  a  certain 
probable  thing.  This  probability^  however,  does  not  take 
place  universally,  as  Agatho  also  says,  **  Perhaps  some 
one  may  say  that  this  is  probable,  that  many  things  which 
are  not  probable  happen  to  mortals."  For  that  which 
is  unlikely  happens.  Hence,  what  is  unlikely  is  likely. 
But  if  this  be  the  case,  that  which  is  not  probable  is 
probable.  This,  however,  is  not  simply  true ;  but  as  in 
contentious  arguments  a  fallacy  is  produced,  when  a  li- 
mitation restraining  to  a  part,  to  a  place,  to  time,  or  sig- 
nifying relation,  is  not  added  ;  so  here  that  which  is  im- 
probable is  not  simply  probable,  but  is  a  certain  proba- 
bility. But  the  art  of  Corax  is  composed  from  this  place. 
For  whether  the  person  be  not  obnoxious  to  the  crime  ; 
as  he  who  is  weak  escapes  an  action  for  an  assault ;  for 
it  is  not  likely  that  he  committed  an  assault ;  or  whether 
he  be  obnoxious,  as  being  a  strong  man,  he  has  the  same 
defence,  unless  a  certain  probability  is  apparent.  And 
the  like  takes  place  in  other  things.     For  a  man  must 


CHAP.  XXVII. 


RHETORIC. 


197 


necessarily  be  obnoxious  to  the  crime,  or  not.  Both, 
therefore,  appear  to  be  probable  ;  and  the  one  is  indeed 
probable  [in  reality  ;]  but  the  other,  not  simply,  but  in 
the  way  we  have  shown.  And  this  it  is,  to  make  the 
inferior  argument  to  be  the  superior.  Hence  men  were 
justly  indignant  with  what  Protagoras  professed  to  ac- 
complish. For  what  he  announced  is  false,  and  not  true, 
but  is  apparently  probable,  and  exists  in  no  art  but  in 
the  rhetorical  and  contentious.  And  thus  much  con- 
cerning enthymemes,  both  the  true,  and  the  apparent.. 


CHAPTER  XXVIL 


It  now  follows  that  we  should  speak  concerning  the 
solutions  of  enthymemes.  But  it  is  possible  to  dissolve 
them  by  contrary  reasoning,  or  by  mtroducing  an  objec- 
tion. 

With  respect  to  contrary  reasoning,  therefore,  it  is 
evident  that  it  may  be  effected  from  the  same  places. 
For  syllogisms  are  composed  from  things  that  are  pro- 
bable ;  but  many  probable  things  appear  to  be  contrary 
to  each  other. 


But  objections  are  introduced,  in  the  same  manner  as 
in  the  Topics,  in  four  ways ;  for  they  are  introduced 
either  from  the  same,  or  from  the  similar^  or  from  the 


198 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  11. 


contrary,  or  from  the  judgment  and  authority  oj  others. 
By  an  objection  however  being   introduced   from  the 
same,  I  mean  as  if  for  instance  the  enthymeme  should  be 
concerning  love,  that  it  is  a  v^orthy  thing,  an  objection 
may  be  made  to  it  in  a   twofold  respect.     For  either  it 
may  be  said  universally,    that  all  indigence  '  is  evil ;  or 
partially  that  it  would  not  be  proverbially  said  Caunias 
love^  unless  there  was  also  base  love.     But  an  objection 
is  introduced  from  the  contrary  ;  when,  if  the  enthymeme 
should  be,   "  That  a  good  man  benefits  all  his  friends  j'* 
it  may  be  objected,  "  That  neither  does  a  bad  man  act 
ill  towards  all  his  friends.*'  ^     An  objection  also  is  intro- 
duced from  similars^  when  the  enthymeme  is,  "  That 
those  who  receive  an  injury  always  hate  [the  authors  of 
it.]"     For  it  may  be  objected,  "  That  neither  do  those 
who  are  benefited  always  love  [their  benefactor.]"     And 
objections  which  are  introduced  from  the  judgments  of 
illustrious  men,  are  as  if  the  enthymeme  were,  ^'  That  it 
is  requisite  to  pardon  those  who  are  intoxicated  ;  for  they 
err  ignorantly.'*     The   objection  is,    '*  That    Pittacus, 
therefore,  does  not  deserve  to  be  praised  ;  for  he  should 
not  have   legally  established  greater  punishments  [for 
intoxication,]  if  he  who  is  intoxicated  errs  [through  ig. 
norance.]"  Enthymemes,  however,  are  derived  from  four, 
things  5  and  these  four  are,  the  probable,  example,  tecme- 

*  This  alludes  to  the  definition  of  love  given  by  Diotima  in  the 
Banquet  of  Plato ;  for  she  there  defines  love  to  be  desire,  and  desire 
to  be  want. 

*  This  alludes  to  the  story  of  Biblis,  who  fell  in  love  with  her 
brother  Caunus. 

^  And,  therefore,  neither  does  a  good  man  benefit  all  his  friends, 
because  a  good  man  is  with  respect  to  beneficence,  what  a  bad  Jfidn 
is  wiih  respect  to  malevolence. 


CHAP.  XXVII. 


RHETORIC. 


199 


rion  [i.  e.  a  necessary  sign,]  and  a  sign  [not  necessary.] 
But  those  enthymemes  which  are  collected  from  things 
that  exist  for  the  most  part,  or  appear  to  exist,  are  de- 
rived from  probabilities.  Those  which  are  derived  from 
the  similar,  either  from  one,  or  many  similar  things, 
(when  the  orator  assuming  what  is  universal,  syllogisti- 
cally  collects  what  is  particular)  exist  through  example. 
But  those  which  exist  through  what  is  necessary  and 
real,  are  through  iecmerion.  And  those  that  exist  through 
what  is  universal  or  particular,  whether  it  really  is,  or  not, 
are  through  signs  [which  are  not  necessary.]  But  a  pro- 
bable thing  is  that  which  does  not  exist  always,  but  for 
the  most  part.  Hence  it  is  manifest,  that  enthymemes 
of  this  kind  may  always  be  dissolved,  if  an  objection  is 
introduced.  The  solution,  however,  is  [sometimes]  ap- 
parent, and  not  always  true ;  for  he  who  objects  does  not 
dissolve  the  enthymeme  by  showing  that  the  thing  is  not 
probable,  but  by  showing  that  it  is  not  necessary.  Hence, 
the  defendant  has  always  the  advantage  of  the  plaintiff;  ' 
through  this  paralogism.  For  since  the  plaintiff  demon- 
strates through  probabilities ;  but  the  solution  is  not  the 
same  [which  shows]  either  that  the  thing  is  not  probable^ 
or  that  it  is  not  necessary ;  and  that  which  exists  for  the 
most  part,  is  always  liable  to  objection  ;  (for  otherwise  it 
would  not  be  a  probability,  but  would  be  always  neces- 
sary) — hence  the  judge,  if  this  mode  of  solution  is  adopt- 
ed, will  think  either  that  the  thing  is  not  probable,  or 
that  it  must  not  be  judged  by  him,  in  consequence,  as 
we  have  said,  of  being  deceived  by  false  reasoning.  For 
it  is  requisite  that  he  should  not  only  judge  from  things 
which  are  necessary,  but  also  from  probabilities.  For 
this  is  to  judge  most  judiciously.  The  solution,  there- 
fore, of  an  enthymeme  is  not  sufficient,  which  shows  that 


200 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK   II. 


a  thing  is  not  necessary,  but  it  is  requisite  that  the  solu- 
tion  should  also  show,  that  it  is  not  probable.     But  this 
will  happen,  if  the  objection  rather  shows  that  the  thing 
for  the  most  part  subsists.     It  is  possible,   however,  that 
a  thing  may  happen  for  the  most  part,  or  frequently,  in  a 
twofold  respect,  viz.  either  from  time,  or  from  circum- 
stances ;  but   principally   if  from   both.     For  if  things 
which  frequently  happen  thus  subsist,  this  is  more  pro- 
bable.     But  signs  [which  are  not  necessary,]  and  en- 
thymemes  derived  through  a  sign,  are   solved  in  the 
way  we  mentioned   in  the  first  book.     For  that  every 
such  sign  is  unsyllogistic  is  evident  to  us  from  the  analy- 
tics.     Enthymemes,  however,  derived  from  examples  are 
solved  after  the  same  manner  as  enthymemes  derived 
from  probabilities.     For  if  we  can  adduce  a  contrary 
example  in  which  the  thing  is  not  so,  the  enthymeme  is 
solved,  because  the  thing  is  not  necessary,  or  because 
many  things  have  happened  frequently,  and  in  a  different 
manner.     But  if  many  things  have  happened  frequently, 
and  in  this  manner,  then  it  must  be  contended  either  that 
the  present  circumstance  is  not  similar,  or  is  not  similarly 
disposed,  or  has  a  certam  difference.     Tecmeria,  how- 
ever,  [i.  e.  necessary  signs,]  and  enthymemes  which  are 
of  the  nature  of  tecmeria,  cannot  be  solved  in  conse- 
quence of  being  unsyllogistic.     But  this  is  evident  to  us 
from  the  analytics.'     It  remains,  therefore,  to  show  that 
what  is  said,  [viz.  that  certain  premises]  do  liot  exist. 
But  if  it  is  evident  that  the  premises  do  exist,  and  that 
the  enthymeme  is  derived  from   tecmerion,  then  the  en- 
thymeme  becomes  insoluble.     For  all  things  now  become 
apparent  from  demonstration. 

'  Sec  the  Prior  Analytics,  Book  II.  Chap.  27. 


CHAP.  XXVIII, 


RHETORIC. 


201 


CHAPTER  XXVm. 


To  amplify,  however,  and  diminish,  are  not  the  ele- 
ments of  an  enthymeme ;  for  I  call  the  same  thing  an 
element  and  place.  For  an  element,  as  also  a  place,  is 
that  into  which  many  enthymemes  fall.  But  to  amplify 
and  diminish  are  enthymemes  for  the  purpose  of  show- 
ing, that  a  thing  is  great  or  small,  as  likewise  that  it  is 
good  or  evil,  just  or  unjust,  or  any  thing  else.  And  all 
these  are  the  things  with  which  syllogisms  and  enthy- 
memes are  conversant ;  so  that  if  no  one  of  these  is  the 
place  of  an  enthymeme,  neither  are  amplification  and 
diminution. 


Neither  are  enthymemes  which  have  the  power  of 
solving  [the  arguments  of  the  opponent]  any  other  spe- 
cies of  enthymeme  than  those  which  are  employed  in 
confirmation.  For  it  is  evident  that  he  solves  [the  argu- 
ments of  his  opponent,]  who  either  shows  [the  contrary 
to  what  his  opponent  asserts,]  or  introduces  an  objection. 
But  he  proves  the  opposite.  Thus,  if  one  shows  that  a 
thing  has  been  done,  the  other  shows  that  it  has  not 
been  done  ;  and  if  one  shows  that  it  has  not,  the  other 
shows  that  it  has  been  done  ;  so  that  here,  indeed,  there 
will  be  no  difference  j  for  both  use  the  same  enthy- 


202 


THE    ART    0F    RHETORIC. 


BOOK  n. 

memes  ;  since  they  introduce  enthymemes  to  show,  that 
the  thing  IS,  or  is  not.     An  objection,  however,  is  not 
an  enthymeme,  but  (as  we  have  shown  in  the  Topics) 
It  IS  to  declare  a  certain  opinion,  from  which  it  will  be 
evident  that  the  conclusion  is  not  syllogistical,  or  that 
something  false  has  been  assumed.     And  thus  much  has 
been  said  by  us  respecdng  examples  and  sentences  ;  and 
m  short  respecting  what  pertains  to  the  reasoning  power 
whence  we  may  abound  with  [enthymemes,]  and  how 
we  may  solve  them.     It  now  remains  to  discuss  what 
pertains  to  diction  and  order. 


>^afe< 


THE 


ART   OF   RHETORIC. 


BOOK  III. 


CHAPTER  I. 


There  are  three  things  which  it  is  requisite  to  discuss 
concerning  an  oration ;  one,  indeed,  from  what  particu- 
lars credibility  is  derived  ;  the  second,  about  diction ; 
and  the  third,  in  what  manner  it  is  requisite  to  arrange 
the  parts  of  an  oration.  Concerning  credibility,  there- 
fore, we  have  already  spoken,  and  have  shown  from  how 
many  things  it  consists,  and  that  it  consists  from  three 
things.  We  have  likewise  shown  what  the  nature  is  of 
these  three,  and  why  credibility  consists  from  these  alone. 
For  all  men  are  persuaded  [to  believe  what  they  hear,] 
either  because  those  who  judge  are  themselves  afFecXed 
in  a  certain  way,  or  because  they  conceive  the  speakers 
to  be  worthy  of  belief,  or  because  the  thing  is  proved. 
We  have  also  spoken  concernijig  enthymemes,  and  have 


204 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK    III, 


shown  whence  they  ought  to  be  derived ;    for  some 
thmgs    indeed,  are  the  species,  but  others  the  places 
of  enthymemes      It  now,  however,  remains  to  speak 
concerning    di«,on.      For   it  is  not  only  sufficient  to 
know  what  ought  to  be  said,  but  it  is  likewise  necessary 
to  speak  ma  proper  manner.     And  diction  contributes 
greatly  to  the  quahty  of  the  oration.     The  parts  of  rhe- 
tone,  therefore,  were  investigated  [by  the  ancients]  in 
that  order  m  which  they  are  naturally  arranged.     But 
from  the  nature  of  a  thing,  we  ought  in  the  first  place 

n  r"""  '\°^V^"^'  ""^''^  '''  ^'J^P'^d  to  persuade. 
In  the  second  place,  these  are  to  be  disposed  Ti.  e  ex- 

prised]  by  [an  appropriate]  diction.     And  that  which 

IS  to  be  considered  m  the  third  place,  and  possesses  the 

greatest  power,  though  it  has  not  yet  been  discussed  by 

^y  one.  is  what  pertains  to  pronunciation,  or  action.  For 

this  was  but  lately  introduced  into  tragic  poetry  and 

rhapsody.     For  at  first,  the  poets  themsdves  ac^le 

^agedies  Cwhich  they  composed.]    It  is  evident,  there! 

fore  that^th  respect  to  rhetoric,  there  is  a  thing  of  this 

kmd   m  the  same  manner  as  with   respect  to  poetrv  • 

lrnnwi*nrr-i  u        •    .       ^      <"unce  or  action  consists  m 

£  whitT'r  *'^"f '  *^  ^-^'  -d  themiddi™, 

^or  ^«    'ei"'  "V^'^''^  ''  '''''  °f  'he  passions! 
there  are  three  thmgs  which  the  writers  on  pronun- 


CHAP.  I. 


RHETORIC. 


205 


elation  consider ;  and  these  are,  magnitude,  harmony, 
and  rhythm.     And  as  in  poetical  contests  those  who  ex- 
cel in  action,  for  the  most  part  obtain  the  prize,  and  the 
players  now  excel  in  it  more  than  the  poets  themselves, 
thus  also  in  forensic  contests,  through  the  depravity  of 
politics,  those  orators  gain  their  cause,  who  excel   in 
action.     The  art,  however,  concerning  rhetorical  action 
has  not  yet  been  disclosed  ;  since,  likewise,  the  art  con- 
cerning diction  was  discovered  late.     And  it  appears  to 
be  but  a  slight  thing,  if  it  is  well  examined.     But  since 
the  business  concerning  rhetoric  pertains  to  opinion,  we 
must  pay  attention  to  it,  not  as  a  thing  possessing  recti- 
tude, but  as  necessary  ;  since  it  is  just  not  to  require 
more  in  an  oration,  than  that  it  may  neither  give  pain, 
nor  delight.     For  it  is  just   to  contend  strenuously  for 
things  themselves ;  so  that  other  things  besides  demon- 
stration are  superfluous.     At  the  same  time,   however, 
diction  is  capable  of  producing  great  effects,  as  we  have 
said,  through  the  depravity  of  the  hearer.    Diction  there- 
fore possesses  a  certain  small  necessity  in  every  disci- 
pline.    For  it  is  of  some  consequence  with  respect  to 
the  declaration  of  a  thing,  to  speak  in  this,  or  in  that 
manner ;  yet  it  is  not  very  important,  but  all  these  [i.  e. 
whatever  pertains  to  rhetoric,]  depend  on  the  imagina- 
tion, and  are  referred  to  the  hearer.     Hence,  no  one 
teaches  geometry  in  this  way,  [viz.  so  as  to  be  solicitous 
about  diction.]     The  art,  therefore,  concerning  pronun- 
ciation,  when  it  is  employed,  produces  the  same   eflFect 
as  acting  on  the  stage.     But  some  persons  have  endea- 
voured to  spe^ik  a  little  concerning  it,  as  for  instance, 
Thrasymachus  in  his  treatise  On  Compassion.     And   to 
be  disposed  to  act  is  natural,  and  more  inartificial ;  but 
diction  is  artificial.     Hence^  again,  rewards  are  given  to 


206 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  in.' 


those  who  excel  in  it,  in  the  same  manner  as  to  those 
rhetoricians  who  excel  in  pronunciation.     For  written 
orations    possess  greater  strength    from    diction,   than 
from  the  sentiments   they   contain.     The  poets,  there- 
fore,  gave  rise  to  diction,  as  it  is  natural  they  should 
For  names  are  imitations ;  and  of  all  our  parts,  voice  is 
the  most  imitative.     Hence,  the  poets  invented  the  poe- 
tical  arts,  viz.  rhapsody,  [or  epic  poetry,]  and  the  art  of 
actmg,  [or  dramatic  poetry,]  and  the  other  arts.     Be- 
cause,  however,  the  poets,  though  they  sing  of  frivolous 
thmgs,  appear  to  have  acquired  their  renown  from  dic- 
tion, on  this  account  poetic  diction,  such  as  that  of  Gor- 
gias,  was  uitroduced  [by  orators;]  and  even  now  many 
of  the  unlearned  fancy  that   those  persons  speak  most 
beautifully  when  they  speak  poetically.     This,  however 
is  not  the  case;  but  the  diction  of  an  oration,  is  different 
from  that  of  poetry.  And  this  is  evident  from  the  evem 
For  the  present  writers  of  tragedies  do  not  any  longer 
employ  the  ancient  poetic  diction.     But  as  from  tetra- 
meters they  betook  themselves  to  iambic  verse,  because 
this  measure  is  of  all  others  most  similar  to  discourse ; 
thus,  also,  they  rejected  such  names  as  are  foreign  from 
familiar  conversation.     Those,  likewise,  who  at  present 
cwnpose  hexameter  verses,  have  rejected  the  names  with 
which  the    first  [dramatic  poets]  adorned  their  verses. 
Hence,  it  is  ridiculous  for  those  to  imitate  these  poets 
who  no  longer  employ  that  mode  of  diction.     Hence 
too,  It  is  evident  that  we  are  not  accurately  to   discus^ 
every  thing  which  may   be  said  concerning   diction,  but 
only  such  things  as  pertain  to  rhetorical  diction.     For  of 

poetical  diction   we    have  spoken  in  the   treatise   On 
roetry. 


CHAP.  II. 


RHETORIC. 


207 


CHAPTER  II. 


Let,  therefore,  what  we  have  written  in  the  Poetic 
be  surveyed ;  and  let  the  virtue  of  diction  be  pyerspi- 
cuity  ;  of  which  this  is  an  indication,  that  speech  does 
not  effect  its  proper  work  unless  it  renders  manifest  [the 
mind  of  the  speaker.]  Another  virtue  of  diction  is, 
that  it  be  neither  low,  nor  above  its  dignity,  but  appro- 
priate. For  poetic  diction  perhaps  is  not  low,  and  yet  is 
not  adapted  to  an  oration.  But  of  nouns  and  verbs,  such 
as  are  proper  render  the  diction  perspicuous.  Such  other 
names,  however,  as  are  mentioned  in  the  Poetic,  cause 
the  diction  not  to  be  low,  but  ornamented.  For  the 
introduction  of  unusual  words,  makes  the  diction  appear 
more  venerable  ;  since  men  are  affected  in  the  same 
manner  towards  diction,  as  they  are  towards  strangers, 
and  their  fellow-citizens.  Hence  it  is  necessary  to  ren- 
der the  dialect  foreign.  For  we  admire  the  language  of 
foreigners  ;  and  that  which  is  admirable  is  pleasant.  In 
metre,  therefore,  the  poet  does  this  frequently,  and  there 
it  is  appropriate ;  for  both  the  verse,  and  the  subjects  of 
the  verse,  are  very  remote  from  common  occurrences ; 
but  in  prose  much  fewer  foreign  words  are  to  be  used. 
For  there,  if  either  a  slave,  or  a  very  young  man,  or  one 


208 


THE   ART  Ot 


BOOK  HI. 


who  speaks  of  very  trifling  things  uses  elegant  language, 
it  IS  more  indecorous.  But  in  the  language  of  the  se 
persons,  the  becoming  consists  in  an  appropriate  contrac- 
tion and  dilatation.  Unusual  words,  however,  should 
be  introduced  by  the  orator  latently,  and  he  should  not 
seem  to  speak  fictitiously,  but  naturally.  For  natural 
diction  is  adapted  to  persuade ;  but  the  fictitious  has  a 
contrary  effect.  For  we  avoid  those  who  speak  ficti- 
tiously as  insidious  persons,  in  the  same  manner  as  we 
avoid  mixed  wines.  Thus,  the  voice  of  Theodorus  was 
preferred  to  the  voice  of  other  actors ;  for  his  seemed 
to  be  the  voice  of  the  speaker,  but  the  voice  of  the 
others  appeared  to  be  foreign.  Unusual  terms,  how- 
ever, will  be  well  introduced  latently,  if  he  who  frames 
a  speech  makes  a  selection  from  the  accustomed  dialect ; 
which  Euripides  does,  and  was  the  first  that  showed  the 
"w^y  to  others. 

But  since  an  oration  consists  from  nouns  and  verbs, 
and  nouns  have  as  many  species  as  are  enumerated  in 
the  treatise  On  Poetry ;  of  these  species,  nouns  taken 
from  various  tongues,  or  dialects,  and  also  such  as  are 
double  and  fictitious,  are  seldom,  and  but  in  few  places 
to  be  used.  Where,  however,  they  are  to  be  used,  and 
why  but  seldom,  we  shall  afterwards  show.  For  they  pro* 
duce  a  greater  change  in  the  language  than  is  becoming. 
But  the  proper,  the  appropriate  and  metaphoric^,  are  alone 
useful  to  prosaic  diction ;  of  which  this  is  an  indication, 
that  all  men  [in  common  conversation]  use  these  alone ; 
for  all  men  speak  in  metaphors,  and  in  appropriate  and 
proper  terms.  Hence  it  is  evident,  that  if  any  one  does 
this  well,  his  dictioa  will  be  foreign,  and  it  may  be  latent 


CHAP,  ii; 


KHETORIC. 


209 


that  it  is  so,  and  he  will  speak  with  perspicuity.  But 
this  was  defined  by  us  to  be  the  virtue  of  a  rhetorical 
discourse.  Of  names  or  nouns,  however,  the  homony- 
mous are  useful  to  the  sophist ;  for  through  these  they 
deceive.  But  the  synonymous  are  useful  to  the  poet.  I 
call,  however,  proper  and  synonymous  terms,  such  as 
to  go  and  to  walk  ;  for  both  these  are  proper,  and  syno- 
nymous to  each  other. 

What,  therefore,  each  of  these  is,  how  many  species 
there  are  of  metaphor,  and  that  metaphors  can  do  much 
both  in  poetry  and  prose,  we  have  shown,  as  we  have 
before  observed,  in  the  treatise  On  Poetry.  But  it  is  so 
much  more  necessary  to  labour  about  these  in  prose, 
because  it  has  fewer  aids  than  verse.  A  metaphor  also 
especially  possesses  the  clear,  the  pleasant,  and  the  for- 
eign, and  it  is  not  to  be  taken  from  another  person. 

It  is  necessary,  however,  to  use  epithets  and  metaphors 
that  are  appropriate ;  and  this  adaptation  will  be  obtained 
from  the  analogous.  Bur  without  this  there  will  be  an 
apparent  indecorum,  because  contraries  are  especially 
conspicuous,  when  placed  by  each  other.  As  a  purple 
garment,  therefore,  becomes  a  young,  but  not  an  old 
man ;  for  the  same  garment  is  not  adapted  to  both ;  thus 
also  certain  metaphors  and  epithets  are  adapted  to  some 
things,  but  are  not  adapted  to  others.  If  likewise  you 
are  willing  to  praise,  the  metaphor  must  be  derived  from 
that  which  is  better  in  the  same  genus ;  but  if  to  blame, 
it  must  be  derived  from  things  which  in  the  same  genus 
arc  inferior.  I  say  for  instance,  since  contraries  are  m 
the  same  genus,  to  say,  "  That  a  beggar  prays,"  and 
«*  That  he  who  prays  begs,"  because  both  are  petitions, 
Arist.  VOL.  I.  o 


210 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  III. 


It  is  expedient  to  do  as  we  have  said. '  Thus  Iphicrates 
called  Callias,  Metragurtes^  or  collector  to  the  mother  of 
the  gods,  and  not  Dadouchos,  or  torch-bearer.  But 
Callias  replied  "  That  Iphicrates  was  not  initiated,  other- 
wise he  would  not  have  called  him  Metragurtes,  but 
Dadouchos.*'  For  both  these  offices  pertained  to  the 
goddess,  but  that  of  torch-bearer  was  honourable,  and 
that  of  collector  ignoble.  The  flatterers  of  Dionysius 
also  employed  the  same  artifice  ;  for  they  called  them- 
selves artists.  Both  these  words,  however,  are  me- 
taphors ;  the  one,  indeed,  of  things  sordid,  but  the  other 
the  contrary.  And  robbers  at  present  call  themselves 
exactors.  Hence,  we  may  be  allowed  to  say,  "  That  he  • 
who  acts  unjustly  errs;  and  that  he  who  errs,  acts 
unjustly  ;  and  also  that  he  who  steals,  both  takes,  and 
•robs."  There  is,  however,  an  indecorum  in  what  Tele- 
phus.in  Euripides  says  [of  certain  rowers]  **  That  they 
reigned  over  oars,  and  descended  into  Mysia."  For  the 
-word  to  reign  is  greater  than  the  dignity  of  the  matter 
[i.  e.  of  an  oar.]  He  does  not  therefore  conceal  his 
artifice.  There  is  also  a.n  error  in  syllables,  unless  they  - 
cause  the  words  to  have  a  pleasing  sound.  And  this 
error  was  committed  by  Dionysius,  surnamed  ChalkouSy 
in  his  elegies.  For  he  calls  poetry  "  The  clangcyr  of 
Calliope,''  because  both  are  vocal  sounds.  But  the  me- 
taphor is  bad,  which  is  made  from  sounds  that  are  not 
significant.  .  * 


Farther  still,  nouns  are  not  to  be  far-fetched,  but 
things  which  are  anonymous  are  to  be  denominated  by- 
words derived  from  things  that  are  allied,  and  of  the 

■  Viz.  If  we  wish  to  praise  him  who  begs,  we  must  say  that  he 
prays  j  but  if  we  wish  to  blame  him,  we  must  say  that  he  begs. 


CHAP.  II. 


RHETORIC. 


211 


same  species,  and  w^hich  show  as  soon  as  they  are  uttered 
that  they  are  allied  \  as  in  that  celebrated  enigma,  "  I 
saw  a  man  agglutinating  brass  to  a  man  with  fire."  For 
the  passion  is  anonymous.  But  both  are  a  certain  addi- 
tion. The  enigma,  therefore,  calls  the  application  of 
the  cupping  glass  an  agglutination.  And  in  short,  fronx 
enigmas  that  are  well  composed,  good  metaphors  may 
be  assumed.  For  metaphors  have  an  obscure  meaning ;  so 
that  it  is  evident  that  an  enigma  if  it  is  approved  consists  of 
metaphors  that  are  well  made.  Metaphors  also  must  be 
assumed  from  beautiful  things.  But  the  beauty  of  a 
name  consists,  as  Lycimnius  says,  in  sounds,  or  in  the 
thing  signified ;  and  in  a  similar  manner  the  deformity 
of  a  name.  Farther  still,  there  is  a  third  tiling,  which 
solves  a  sophistical  argument.  For  that  which  Brygon 
says  is  not  true,  "  That  no  one  speaks  obscurely,  since 
the  same  thing  is  signified  by  using  this  name  instead  of 
that."  For  this  is  false  ;  since  one  name  is  more  proper 
and  more  assimilated  than  another,  and  is  more  adapted 
to  place  the  thing  before  our  eyes.  Again,  this  name 
and  that  signify  a  thing  not  similarly  subsisting  j  so  that 
thus  also,  one  name  must  be  admitted  to  be  more  beauti- 
ful or  more  deformed  than  another.  For  both  names, 
indeed,  signify  the  beautiful  and  the  deformed  \  but  not 
so  far  as  beautiful,  or  so  far  as  deformed.  Or  both  sig- 
nify the  same  things,  but  in  a  greater  or  less  degree. 
Metaphors,  however,  are  hence  to  be  derived  from  things 
which  are  beautiful,  either  in  the  voice,  or  in  the  power 
[of  signification,]  or  to  the  sight,  or  some  other  sense. 
But  it  makes  a  difference  to  say,  for  instance,  "  The 
yosy-finger'd  morn,"  rather  than,  "  The  purple-finger'd," 
or,  which  is  still  worse,  "  The  red-finger'dJ 


/J  »> 


i 


212 


THE   ART   0? 


BoaK  IIU 


In  epithets,  also,  appositions  may  be  made  from  what 
IS  vile  or  base ;  as,  for  instance,  the  matricide.  But  the 
apposition  may  be  made  from  that  which  is  better  ;  as, 
tfie  avenger  of  his  father.  And  Simonides,  when  he  who 
conquered  with  mules,  offered  him  a  small  reward,  was 
unwilling  to  compose  verses  on  the  occasion,  as  disdain- 
ing  to  celebrate  in  verse  semi-asses.  But  when  he  had 
given  him  a  sufficient  reward,  then  he  sung. 

Hail  daughters  of  the  steeds  that  f?y 
With  feet  like  whirlwinds  swift* 

Though  they  were  also  the  daughters  of  asses. 

Farther  still,  a  thing  may  be  praised  or  blamed  by  em- 
ploying  diminutives.  But  diminution  is  that  which 
renders  both  evil  and  good  less.  Thus  Aristophanes 
in  his  Babylonics  calls  in  derision  kruston  (a  golden 
thing)  krusidarian,  and  imation  (a  garment)  imatida^ 
rim.  He  also  calls  hidoria  (slander)  loidoremation,  and 
nosema  (disease)  nosemation.  In  both  appositions,  how- 
ever, and  diminutives,  it  is  requisite  to  be  cautious,  and 
to  observe  a  mediocrity. 


CHAP.  ill. 


RHETORIC. 


213 


CHAPTER  IIL 

FiiiGiDiTY  may  be  produced  in  diction  in  four  ways. 
In  the  first  place  in  double  nouns  [i.  e.  in  compound 
words;]  as  in  Lycophron  when  he  says,  "the  many- 
fac'd  heaven ;  the  mighty-topp'd  earth ;  and  the  narrow- 
mouth'd  shore."  And  as  Gorgias  calls  some  one,  a 
beggarlj/-mus'd  flatterer ;  and  those  who  take  an  oath 
improperly,  or  properly,  epiorkesaiitas^  and  kaieuorke" 
Santas.  And  as  Alcidamas  [when  describing  some  one 
who  was  in  a  rage,]  "  His  soul  was  full  of  ardour,  but 
his  face  was  of  a  fiery  cobur."  And  speaking  of  the 
promptitude  of  a  certain  person  to  fight  to  the  last,  he 
calls  him  telesphoros,  or  enduring  to  the  end.  He  like- 
wise calls  the  power  of  persuading,  telesphoros  ;  and  the 
bottom  of  the  sea  kuanochroony  or  azure-coloured.  For 
all  these  expressions  appear  to  be  poetical  from  duplica- 
tion.    This,  therefore,  is  one  cause  of  frigid  diction. 

Another  cause  arises  from  the  use  of  ancient  words. 
Thus  Lycophron  calls  Xerxes  pelorion'  andra,  or  an 

'  That  9riA*5<ov  is  an  ancient  poetical  word  is  evident  from  the 
following  line,  which  is  only  to  be  found  in  the  Manuscript  Com- 
ment of  Syrianus  on  the  Metaphysics  of  Aristotle. 

I  e.  (speaking  of  Chaos)  *«  It  is  a  chasm  and  a  mighty  chasm, 
every  way  immense.*' 


214 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  111. 


immense  man.  And  Sclron  he  calls,  shnis  aneer^  or  a 
pernicious  man.  Alcidamas,  also,  speaking  of  poetry, 
says  no  such  athurma^  or  puerih  sport,  is  useful  to 
poetry.  And  speaking  of  nature  he  uses  the  expression 
atasthalia  or  improbity.  And  of  a  certain  person,  he 
says,  "  that  he  was  exasperated  with  th^  untamed  anger 
of  his  mind/* 

In  the  third  place,  diction  may  become  frigid  from 
using  epithets,  which  are  either  long,  or  unseasonable, 
or  frequent.  For  in  poetry  it  is  becoming  to  say,  white- 
milk.  But  in  prose,  epithets  are  partly  more  unbe- 
coming, and  partly,  if  they  are  too  frequent,  they  cause 
prose  to  appear  to  be  verse.  Epithets,  however,  are 
sometimes  to  be  used  in  prose  ;  for  they  render  the  dic- 
tion more  unusual,  and  cause  it  to  be  foreign.  But  me- 
diocrity must  be  regarded  in  the  use  of  them,  since 
otherwise  a  greater  evil  is  produced  than  by  speaking 
casually.  For  casual  diction  is  not  good,  but  the  other 
is  bad.  Hence,  the  writings  of  Alcidamas  appear  to  be 
frigid.  For  he  uses  epithets,  not  as  seasonings,  but 
as  food  ;  since  they  are  so  frequent  in  his  wrirings,  so 
great,  and  so  apparent.  Thus,  for  instance,  he  does  not 
merely  say  sweaty  but  moist  sxveai.  And  he  does  not  say 
that  some  one  went  to  the  Isthmia  [or  solemn  games  in 
honour  of  Neptune,]  but  to  the  general  assembly  of  the 
Isthmian  games.  Thus  too,  he  does  not  say  the  laws, 
but  legal  institutes^  th^  queen  of  cities.  Nor  does  he  say 
in  ruTtningy  but  with  the  rapid  impulse  of  the  soul.  Nor 
f}mseumy  but  receiving  the  museum  of  nature.  And  the 
had  care  of  the  soul,  [^instead  of  merely  saying  care.'^ 
Nor  does  he  say  favour,  but  the  artificer  oj'  popular 
favour.     And  [again  he  calls  an  orator]  the  dispensator 


CHAP.  III. 


RHETORIC. 


^\5 


of  the  pleasure  of  the  hearers:  And,  lie  did  not  hide 
himself  in  the  branches,  but  in  the  branches  of  the  wood. 
And,  he  did  not  cover  his  body,  but  the  shame  of  his 
body.  And,  desire  the  anti-rival  of  the  soul  But  this 
is  at  the  same  time  a  double  word,  and  an  epithet ;  so 
that  it  becomes  poetical.  Thus  too  speaking  of  impro- 
bity he  says,  the  immense  excess  of  improbity.  Hence, 
those  who  speak  poetically  produce  the  ridiculous  and 
the  frigid,  by  their  indecorous  diction,  and  also  occasion 
obscurity  by  their  garrulity.  For  garrulity  dissolves 
perspicuity,  when  it  is  introduced  to  him  who  knows  the 
subject,  by  the  obscurity  which  it  occasions.  Men,  how- 
ever, use  double,  or  compound  words,  when  a  thing 
is  anonymous,  and  the  words  may  be  easily  joined,  such 
as  time-wasting.  But  if  this  is  done  frequently,  the  die- 
tion  becomes  entirely  poetical-  Hence,  a  double  diction 
[i.  e.  compound  words,]  are  most  useful  to  dithyrambic 
poets ;  for  the  language  of  these  is  sonorous.  But 
ancient  names  and  dialects  are  most  adapted  to  epic 
poets-;  for  epic  poetry  is  venerable  and  superb.  And 
metaphors  are  most  adapted  to  iambics  ;  for  these,  as  we 
have  before  observed,  iambic  poets  now  us( 


>e. 


Again,  in  the  fourth  place,  frigidity  is  produced  in 
metaphors.  For  there  are  indecorous  metaphors,  some 
indeed,  on  account  of  the  ridiculous ;  for  comic  poets 
also  use  metaphors.  But  others  are  indecorous  from 
being  too  venerable  and  tragical.  Metaphors  likewise 
are  obscure,  if  they  are  far-fetched ;  as  those  of  Gorgias, 
who  calls  certain  things,  green  and  sanguineous.  And, 
you  indeed  have  shamefully  sown,  ami  badly  reaped 
these  things.  "For  this  is  too  poetically  said.  Thus 
too,  Alcidamas  calls  philosophy  the  bulwark  of  the  laws; 


216 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  III. 


and  the  Odyssey  a  beautiful  mirror  of  human  life.  And 
again  he  says,  *'  nothing  of  this  kind  introduces  puerile 
sport  {aQupfxa)  in  poetry.**  For  all  these  metaphors, 
from  the  causes  already  mentioned,  are  unadapted  to 
procure  persuasion.  But  what  Gorgias  said  on  a  swal- 
low which  dropped  its  excrement  as  it  flew  towards 
him,  is  the  best  of  tragical  metaphors;  for  he  said, 
"  This  is  shameful,  O  PhilomeV*  For  if  he  said  this  to 
the  bird,  the  action  was  not  shameful ;  but  to  a  virgin. 
It  was  shameful.  His  defamation  therefore  was  proper, 
because  he  alluded  to  what  the  bird  had  been,  and  not 
to  what  it  then  was. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


An  image  also  is  a  metaphor ;  for  It  differs  very  little 
from  it.     For  when  Homer  says  of  Achilles, 

He  like  a  lion  rush'd, 

it  is  an  image.  But  when  he  says,  the  lion  rusKd,  it  is 
a  metaphor.  For  because  both  are  brave,  he  calls 
Achilles  metaphorically  a  lion. 

An  image  also  is  useful  in  prose,  though  but  rarely  ; 
foi  it  is  poetical. 


CHAP.  IV. 


RHETORIC. 


217 


Images,  however,  are  to  be  introduced  in  the  same 
manner  as  metaphors ;  for  they  are  metaphors,  diflfering 
in  the  way  we  have  already  mentioned. 

§ 

But  images  are  for  instance  such  as  what  Androtlon 
said  on  Idrieus,  "  That  he  resembled  whelps  freed  from 
their  chains."     For  they  bite  any  one  that  falls  in  their  ' 
way,  and  Idrieus  when  freed  from  his  bonds  was  morose. 
And  as  Theodamas  assimilated  Archidamus  to  Euxenus, 
who  was  ignorant  of  geometry  ;  and  this  from  the  ana- 
logous.     For  Euxenus  is  the  geometrical  Archidamus. 
Another  instance  of  similitude  is  from  the  [5th  book  of 
the]  Republic  of  Plato,     "  That  those  who  in  battle 
plunder  the  bodies  of  the  dead,  are  similar  to  whelps 
who  bite  stones,  but  do  not  touch   those  who  throw 
them."     And  [in  the  6th  book,]  it  is  said  of  the  people, 
"  That  they  resemble  a  strong,  but  deaf  pilot."     And 
[in  the   10th  book]   speaking  of  poetical  measures,  it 
is  said,  "  That   they  resemble  those  who  are  in  the 
prime  of  life,  but   without  beauty.     For  these  in  the 
decline  of  life,  and   verses  when  they  are  dissolved, 
no  longer  appear  the  same."      Another  instance  is  that 
of  Pericles  on  the   Samians,    "  That   they   resembled 
children,  who  take  their  food   crying."     And  on   the 
Boeodans,  **  That  they  resembled  flints ;  for  flints  are 
struck  against  each  other,  and  the  Boeotians  fight  with 
each  other."     Another  instance  is  that  of  Demosthenes 
on  [the  Athenian]  people,  "  That  they  resembled  those 
who  are  sea-sick."     And  that  of  Democrates  who  assi- 
milated  "  Rhetoricians  to  nurses,  who  swallow  the  food 
themselves,  and  anoint  the  children  with  the  spittle." 
And  again,  that  of  Antisthenes,  who  assimilated  Cephisi- 
dotus,  who  was  a  thin  man,  to  frankincense,  "  which 


218 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  III* 


CHAP.  V. 


RHILTORIC. 


219 


delights  while  it  consumes.'*  For  all  these  similitudes 
may  be  used,  both  as  images,  and  as  metaphors ;  so  that  it 
is  evident  that  such  words  as  are  approved,  and  are  used 
as  metaphors,  will  also  be  images,  and  likewise  that  images 
are  metaphors,  which  are  in  want  of  argument.  It  is 
always,  however,  necessary  that  a  metaphor  should  be 
converted  from  the  'analogous,  and  be  referred  to  the 
other  part,  and  to  things  homogeneous.  Thus  if  a  cup 
may  [from  analogy]  be  called  the  shield  of  Bacchus,  a 
shield  also  may  appropriately  be  said  to  be  the  cup 
of  Mars.  From  these  things,  therefore,  an  oration  is 
composed. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  principle,  however,  of  diction  is  to  speak  with 
propriety;  and  this  consists  in  five  things.  And  the 
first  indeed,  is  in  conjunctives, '  if  these  are  disposed  in 
such  a  ^  way  as  their  nature  requires,  viz.  so  as  to  be 
placed  in  an  order  prior  and  posterior  to  each  other. 
ITius  for  instance  the  conjunction  indeed,  and  I  indeed, 
require  but,  and  bui  he.     It  must  be  remembered,  how- 

'  Under  conjunctions  Aristotle  also  comprehends  prepositions, 
article.,  and  the  other  parts  of  speech,  which  are  distinguished 
trom  noun  and  verb. 


ever,  that  conjunctlotis  which  correspond  to  each  other, 
should  neither  be  disjoined  by  a  great  interval,  nor  should 
have  so  many  things  interposed  between  them,  that  when 
a  conjunction  corresponding  to  a  former  one  is  given, 
the  prior  conjunction  is  forgotten  ;  for  this  is  appropriate 
but  in  few  places.     Thus,  *'  But  /,  after  the  thing  xms 
related  to  me,  for  Cleon  came  begging  and  entreating, 
ivent  taking  them  along  with  me."    For  here,  many  con- 
junctions are  inserted  prior  to  the  conjunction  which  was 
to  have  been  assigned. '     But  if  there  is  a  great  interval 
between  But  I,  and  7  ttJ^f,  the  sentence  becomes  ob- 
scure.    One  thing,  therefore,  requisite  to  correct  diction 
is  a  proper  disposition  in  the  conjunctions.     A  second  is, 
to  call  things  by  their  proper  names,  and  not  to  circum- 
scribe them  [by  generic  and  common  names.]     A  third 
is,  not  to  use  ambiguous  words.     But  these  precepts  are 
to  be  observed,  unless  the  contraries  to  them  are  pre- 
ferred, which  those  do,  who  when  they  have  nothing  to 
say,  pretend  to  say  something.     For  men  of  this  kind  in 
poetry,  thus  speak ;  as  for  instance  Empedocles.     For 
circumlocution  deceives,  if  it  be  much,  and  the  auditors 
are  affected  in  the  same  manner  as  the  multitude  are  by 
those  who  predict  future  events,  since  when  they  speak 
ambiguously,  the  vulgar  assent  to  what  they  say.     **  If 
Croesus  passes  over  the  river  Halys,  he  will  destroy  a 
mighty  empire."     [But  the  reason  why  w^hen  we  have 
nothing  to  say,  w^e  should  use  generic  terms  is]  because 
in  short,  the  error  will  be  less,  and  on  ibis  account 


'  i.  e.  Since  Itveiit  is  referred  to  the  words  hut  7,  many  words 
are  interposed,  from  tlie  interposition  of  which,  obscurity  is  pro- 
duced.   -  • 


<ifaA\*^te-w-g'j.aA>fa^3"'jifttty "JftF-*"  ■^'"  *-'''^aaj jjtght'iXMKMB.  ..t.i.^-iA  n-t*-^ 


'—  .*M*»*'<II-f     ' 


:ni«a.M>^  nJ^t^sA'a-^tfift-u 


'^fiimmttat  jfc.'*-  ■g..a>i,-*aftaa*jafrf:M<iaBi>jita*Lhia 


^20 


THE  ART  OP 


BOOK  III, 


diviners  «peak  through  the  genera  of  a  thing.     Fot  in 
the  game  of  even  and  odd,  he  will  be  less  likely  to  err 
who  says  that  a  number  is  even  or  odd  in  general,  than 
if  he  determines  what  number  is  so.     And  he  who  pre- 
diets  that  a  certain  event  will  be,  is  less  likely  to  err,  if 
he  only  says  that  it  will  be,  than  if  he  assigns  the  time 
when  It  will  be.     Hence,  those  who  deliver  oracles,  do 
not  define  the  time  when  a  thing  will  happen.    AH  these 
generic  and  ambiguous  names,  therefore,  are  to  be  avoid- 
ed>  unless  they  are  adopted  for  the  sake  of  some  such  ^ 
purpose,  as  we  have  mentioned.     A  fourth  thing  requi- 
site  to  correct  diction  is,  as  Protagoras  divided  the  genera 
of  nouns  into  masculine,  feminine,  and  instruments  [or 
neuter,]  to  employ  these  rightly ;  as  «  She  coming  and 
discoursing  departed.*' '     A  fifth  requisite  is  to  denomi- 
nate  rightly  in  many  and  few  things  ;  and  in  one  thing  j 
as,  "  But  they  coming,  struck  me.'*  ^ 

In  short,  it  is  requisite  that  what  is  written,  should  be 
$0  written  as  to  be  read  and  pronounced  with  facility. 
But  this  is  not  the  case  when  there  are  many  conjunc- 
tions ;  and  when  what  is  written  cannot  be  easily  pointed  j 
and  such  are  the  writings  of  Heraclitus.  For  it  is  labo- 
rious  to  point  the  writings  of  Heraclitus,  because  it  is 
immanifest  what  should  be  conjoined  with  the  prior  or 
posterior  part ;  as  in  the  beginning  of  his  book.  For 
he  there  says,   "  Of  reason  existing  always  men   tre 

'  It  is  difficult  to  illustrate  this  example  in  English,  but  easy  in 
Latin.     Thus  to  say,  «  ilia  vero  reversa,  et  colloquuta,  discessit,"    ' 
is  right;  but  to  say,   «« ilia  vero  reversus,  &c,"  is  wrong. 

*  Thus  too  in  Latin,  to  say,  « illi  vero  reverai  verberayunt  me*' 
is  right ;  but  <*  illi  vero  reversus,  3j^c.*'  is  wrong. 


i«^faj»»jjfai*rtrtgt,jQfa^v.j-jF^iiif«*-»»yaLfcAiM*c^*^a'w*rj»i'    i&jfcf-ja-ftirjMrf&T  ^■.■ 


.Af-  .jt^i^J^VSi'^'M^iiiufiASiiLMSatSS 


CHAP.  VI. 


RHETOniC. 


221 


ignorant;"  since  it  is  immanifest  whether  the  word  always 
pertaias  to  the  prior  or  to  the  posterior  part, ' 

Farther  still,  a  solecism  is  produced  in  composition, 
when  to  two  words,  another  appropriate  word  is  not  con- 
joined.  Thus  to  noise  and  colour^  seeing  is  not  a  com- 
mon [i.  e.  is  not  an  appropriate]  word ;  but  sensible  per^ 
ception  is  common.  The  composition  also  is  rendered 
obscure,  from  the  insertion  of  much  which  is  intermediate, 
unless  the  part  which  corresponds  to  the  first  part  of  a 
sentence,  is  immediately  subjoined,  and  the  rest  added ; 
as,  "  My  intention  was,  after  I  had  mentioned  such  and 
such  things  to  him,  to  go."  But  this  obscurity  would 
be  avoided  by  saying,  "  My  intention  was,  after  1  had 
spoken  to  him,  to  go  ;**  and  then  to  add,  '*  having 
mentioned  to  him  such  and  such  things." 


CHAPTER  VL 


The  following  particulars  contribute  to  the  amplitude 
of  diction :  To  use  definition  [or  description]  instead  of 
a  name ;  as  instead  of  saying  a  circle  to  say,  a  plane 

'  I.  e.  It  is  dubious  whether  the  meaning  of  Heraclitus  is,  that 
■men  arc  ignorant  of  that  reason  tvhich  alumys  exists,  or,  that  men 
are  alwat/s  ignorant  of  the  reason  which  exists. 


222 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  III. 


figure  in  xs)hich  all  lines  dra^wn  from  the  middle  to  tJie 
circumference  are  equal.     But  the  contrary  contributes 
to  conciseness,  viz.  to  use  the  name  instead  of  the  defini- 
tion.    Amplitude  of  diction  is  also  effected,  if  when  any 
thing  disgraceful  or  indecorous  is  to  be  expressed,  the 
name  is  used  when  the  disgraceful  thing  is  in  the  defini- 
tion, but  the  definition,  if  it  is  in  the  name.    It  is  likewise 
eflFected  by  rendering  a  thing  manifest  by  metaphors, 
and  epithets,  avoiding  at  the  same  time  what  is  poetical. 
And  by  causing  one  thing  ta  be  many,  [i.  e.  by  using 
the  plural  instead  of  the  singular  number,]  which  the 
poets  do.     For  when  there  is  but  one  part,  they  never- 
theless say,   "  into  the  Achaian  parts."     And  instead  of 
saying,    "  the   complication  of   an  epistle,"    they   say, 
"  the   complications  of  epistles."      Amplitude  is   also 
effected,  by  separating  what  we  can  conjoin,  as,  ^^  this 
woman,  this  our  wife."     But  if  we  wish  to  speak  con- 
cisely, we  must  say  on  the  contrary,  "  this  woman  our 
wife."     And  it  is  effected  by  using  a  conjunction ;  but 
if  we  wish  to  speak  concisely,  we  must  not  employ  a 
conjunction,  yet  the  sentence  must  not  be  unconnected; 
as  in  the  first  case,  "  Going  and  speaking  to  himj"  and 
in  the  second,  "  Going,  I  spoke  to  him."     The  method 
of  Antimachus  likewise  is  useful  for  this  purpose,  viz. 
to  enumerate  particulars,  which  a  thing  does  not  possess, 
which  he  does,  speaking  of  the  hill  Teumessus ;  for  he 
s?iys, 

A  little  hill  there  is,  exposM  to  wind^ 


For  thus  we  may  amplify  to  infinity.  And  this  may  take 
place  both  in  what  is  good,  and  what  is  bad,  by  enume- 
raang  what  is  not  inherent,  in  whatever  way^  it  may  be 


CHAP.  VII. 


RHETORIC, 


223 


useful  to  the  oration.  Hence,  also,  poets  derive  the  words, 
chordlesSy  and  lyreless  melody  ;  for  these  words  are 
derived  from  privations.  But  what  we  have  just  said, 
is  adopted  in  metaphors,  taken  from  the  analogous ;  such 
for  instance  as  to  say,  "  That  the  sound  of  a  trumpet  is 
a  lyreless  melody." 


CHAPTER  VII. 


Diction,  also,  will  possesswhat  is  decorous,  if  it  Is 
pathetic  and  ethical,  and  analogous  to  the  subject  matter. 
But  the  analogous  is  effected  by  neither  speaking  of 
things  grand  and  magnificent  slightly,  nor  of  abject 
things,  venerably,  [and  magnificently  ;]  nor  giving  orna- 
ment to  a  vile  appellation.  For  if  this  is  not  adopted, 
the  composition  will  appear  to  be  a  comedy ;  which  is 
the  case  with  that  of  Cleon.  For  some  things  which  he 
writes,  are  just  as  if  a  man  should  say,  **  A   venerable 

Diction  becomes  pathetic,  by  reciting  insolent  beha- 
viour in  the  language  of  an  angry  person.  But  when  con- 
duct has  been  impious  and  shameful,  then  the  diction  be- 
comes pathetic,  by  speaking  indignantly,  and  cautiously  j ' 

*  L  e.  As  if  not  daring  to  disclose  such  nefarious  tonduct. 


224 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  III. 


and  when  conduct  has  been  laudable,  this  is  effected  by 
speaking  with  admiration.  But  in  things  of  a  lamentable 
nature,  the  pathetic  is  produced  by  a  humble  diction. 
And  the  like  method  must  be  adopted  in  other  things. 
Appropriate  diction,  also,  persuades  to  the  truth  of  a 
thing.  For  the  soul  of  the  auditor  is  deceived  by  false 
reasoning,  in  consequence  of  conceiving  that  the  orator 
speaks  the  truth  ;  because  the  auditors  are  thus  affected 
in  such-like  orations.  Hence,  they  fancy  that  things  are 
as  the  orator  says,  though  they  are  not  so.  The  auditor, 
likewise,  becomes  similarly  affected  with  him  who  speaks 
pathetically,  though  he  should  say  nothing  to  the 
purpose.  Hence,  many  astonish  the  hearers,  by  the 
tumultuous  manner  in  which  they  deliver  their  ora- 
tions. 

Moreover,  ethical  diction  is  a  demonstration  from 
signs,  because  this  when  appropriate  is  consequent  to 
every  genus  and  habit.  But  I  mean  by  genus,  indeed, 
age ;  such  as  a  child,  or  a  man,  or  an  old  man  ;  [sex,^ 
as  man  or  woman  ;  [and  nation,]  as  a  Lacedsemonian,  or 
Thessalian.  And  by  habits,  I  mean  those  things  which 
produce  the  variety  of  conditions  In  life ;  for  the  lives  of 
men  are  not  such  as  they  are  according  to  every  habit. 
If,  therefore,  the  diction  has  appellations  adapted  to  the 
habit,  it  will  become  ethical.  For  a  rustic  and  a  well- 
educated  man,  will  not  say  the  same  things,  aor  speak 
after  the  same  manner.  But  the  auditors  are  somewhat 
affected  by  that  figure,  which  the  writers  of  orations  abun- 
dantly use ;  as,  "  Who  does  not  know  this  ?  All 
men  know  it."  For  the  auditor,  from  shame,  confesses 
that  he  participates  of  that  knowledge,  of  which  ever/ 
one  else  partakes. 


ji-oat'i»J''*teWttWiigtg«M«a'VMaif»»Si  iV.g'ai.Ji  ^J-M.l»ifv, 


CKAP.  VII. 


RHETORIC. 


225 


Opportune,  however,  or  not  opportune  use  is  common 
to  all  the  species.     But  the  remedy  in  every  hyperbole  is 
that  celebrated  advice  [self-correction  ;]  for  it  is  neces- 
sary  that  the  orator  should  correct  himself.     For   the 
thing  then  appears  to  be  true,  [though  it  may  seem  to  be 
incredible,]   because  the   incredibility  of  it   is  not  con- 
cealed from  the  orator.     Farther  still,  every  thing  analo- 
gous  is  not  to  be  used  at  once ;  for  thus  the  artifice  will 
be  concealed  from  the  hearer.     I  mean,  for  instance,  that 
if  the  names  are  harsh,  yet  must  not  the  voice,  or  coun- 
tenance,  or  other  appropriate  things,  be  such  as  to  ex- 
press that  harshness ;  otherwise,  it  will  become  manifest 
what  each  of  these  is.     But  if  the  names  are  harsh,  and 
the  voice  or  countenance  is  not  adapted  to  such  names, 
the  artifice  will  be  latent.     If,  therefore,  soft  things  be 
spoken  harshly,  and  harsh  things  gently,  they  will  lose 
the  power  of  persuading.      But  epithets  and  compound 
words,  if  they  are  numerous,  and  especially  such  as  are 
foreign,  are  adapted  to   him  who   speaks   pathetically. 
For  w^e  pardon  the  orator,  who  when  enraged  calls  some 
evil  heaven-reaching,  or  immense.     These  epithets,  also, 
and  compound  words,  may  be  used  by  the  orator,  when 
he  has  already  moved  the  auditors,  and  inspired  them 
with  a  divine  fury,  either  by  praising  or  dispraising,  or  by 
exciting  them  to  anger  or  love,  which  Isocrates  does  in 
his  Panegyric^  towards  the  end,  where  he  has  the  words 
*'  fame  and  memory."      And  "  those  who   endured." 
For  those  who  are  agitated  with  a  divine  fury,  speak 
things  of  this  kind,  so  that  the  auditors  admit  what  is 
said,  in  consequence  of  being  similarly  affected.     Hence, 
this  form  of  diction  is  also  adapted  to  poetry  ;  for  poetry 
partakes  of  divine  inspiration.     Either,  therefore,  this 
AriaU  vol.  i.  p 


226 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  III. 


CHAP.  VIII. 


RHETORIC. 


227 


form  of  diction  must  be  adopted  [In  the  cases  already 
mentioned,]  or  irony  must  be  employed,  as  it  was 
by  Gorgias,  and  Socrates  in  the  Phasdrus  of  Plato. 


CHAPTER  Vlll. 


With  respect,  however,  to  the  figure  of  diction,  it  is 
necessary  that  it  should  neither  be  metrical,  nor  without 
rj'thm.  For  metrical  diction  is  not  calculated  to  per- 
suade. For  it  appears  to  be  feigned,  and  calls  the  atten- 
tion of  the  auditor  from  the  subject  of  the  oration  ;  since 
he  is  led  to  expect  a  metre  similar  to  the  former.  As, 
therefore,  when  the  cryers  proclaim  to  the  people  [when 
a  slave  is  manumitted  by  his  master,]  "  What  patron 
will  he  who  is  manumitted  chuse?"  the  boys  antece- 
dently to  the  cryer  exclaim,  "  Cleon ;" — [thus  if  the 
oration  were  metrical,  the  auditors  would  preoccupy  the 
orator,  and  would  foresee  what  he  ought  to  say.]  But 
the  diction  which  is  without  rythm  is  indefinite.  It  is 
necessary,  however,  that  it  should  be  bounded,  though  not 
by  metre.  For  the  infinite  is  unpleasant  and  unknown ; 
and  all  things  are  bounded  by  number.  But  the  number 
of  the  figure  of  diction  is  rythm,  of  which  metres  are  the 
segments.  Hence,  it  is  necessary  that  an  oration  should 
have  rythm,  but  not  metre  or  measure  ;  for  if  it  has,  it 


will  be  a  poem.     It  should  not,  however,  possess  rythm 
accurately,  but  only  to  a  certain  extent. 

Of  rythms,  however,  the  heroic  indeed  is  venerable 
and  sonorous,  and  requires  harmony.  But  the  iambic  is 
the  diction  of  the  multitude.  Hence,  in  speaking,  iam- 
bics  are  uttered  the  most  of  all  measures.  But  it  is 
necessary  that  the  prose  of  an  oration  should  be  vene- 
rable  and  very  exciting.  The  Trochaic  measure,  how- 
ever,  is  more  analogous  to  swift  dancing.  But  this 
is  evident  from  tetrameters,  which  are  a  voluble  rythm.* 

'  Heroic  feet,  i.  e.  dactyls  and  spondees  have  an  even  ratio,  or  in 
other  words,  the  ratio  of  one  to  one.  For  a  short  syllable  contains  one 
time,  a  long  syllable  contains  two  times ;  but  a  spondee  consists  of  two 
long  syllables ;  and  therefore  consists  of  two  syllables  measured  by 
an  equal  time,  and  consequently  has  an  even  proportion.     A  dactyl 
consists  of  three  syllables,  the  first  long,  the  second  and  third  short; 
but  a  long  syllable  contains  two  times ;  two  short  syllables  contain  two 
other  times  ;  and  therefore  a  dactyl  also  consists  of  three  syllables, 
of  which  the  two  posterior  are  measured  by  an  equal  time  with  the 
first  syllable,  and  consequently  a  dactyl  has  an  even  proportion. 
An  anapest,  which  is  an  inverted  dactyl,  has  the  same  proportion, 
since  it  has  the  two  first  syllables  short,  and  the  third  long.     The 
heroic  rythm,  therefore,  of  dactyls  and  spondees,  on  account  of  its 
equability  is  full  of  majesty,  is  sonorous  and  magnificent,  and  re- 
quires harmony.     Hence,  it  is  not  sufliciently  adapted  to  prose, 
which  ought  to  be  without  harmony,  and  ought  to  be  less  sonorous 
and  less  magnificent.     Iambics,  which  consist  of  two  syllables,  the 
first  short,  and  the  second  long,  and  the  opposite  to  them,  trocha- 
ics,  which  have  the  first  syllable  long,  and  the  second  short,  have  a 
duple  ratio.     For  a  long  syllable  contains  two  times,  and  a  short 
syllable  one  time ;  but  iambics  and  trochaics  consist  of  a  long  and 
a  short  syllable.     Hence,  they  consist  of  two  syllables,  of  which 
one  has  to  the  other  the  ratio  of  two  to  one,  and  consequently  they 
have  a  duple  ratio.      Of  these,  the  iambic  rythm  is  very  much  • 
adapted  to  familiar  conversation,  and  therefore  the  diction  of  the 
multimde  for  the  most  p^n  cofuists  of  iambic*.     The  rythm,  how- 


^^ju^gB^^sitmtiimi^i^MMm^m 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  IIU 


THe  paean  therefore  remains,  which  was  employed  by 
orators,  and  originated  from  Thrasymachus ;  yet  they 

ever,  which  is  adapted  to  prose,  ought  to  be  more  grand  and  grave 
than  that  which  is  adapted  to  the  familiar  diction  of  the  valgar ; 
and  hence,  neither  is  the  iambic  rythm  very  fit  for  prose.  And 
the  trochaic  rythm  has  too  much  concitation,  as  is  evident  from 
tetrameters,  which  because  they  for  a  great  part  consl^st  of 
trochees,  possess  a  very  exciting  power,  and  almost  run.  Henoe, 
this  rythm  does  not  accord  with  the  majesty  of  prose. 

The  foot  follows  which  is  called  pftan,  because  it  was  used  in  thff 
hjrmns  of  Apollo,  who  was  denominated  Fscan.     But  a  paean  is  a 
foot    consisting   of  four  syllables,  one  long,   and  the   remaining 
three   short.      If  the   first  syllable   is   long,   it  is   called   a   first 
paeun;    if  the  second  is    long,  it  is    called    a   second   paean;   if 
the  third,  a  third  paean ;  and  if  the  fourth,  a  fourth  paean :  But 
Aristotle,  here,  alone  distinguishes  the  first  and  fourth  paean  ;   and 
omits  the  other  two.     Thrasymachus  used  the  first  paean  in  prose^ 
whom  others  followed;  but  they  could  not  explain  what  is  the 
nature  of  this  rythm,  and  what  ratio  it  contains.     This,  therefore, 
yr-e  must  endeavour  to  explain*    A  paean,  then,  is  a  foot  the  third  in 
order,  and  contains  the  third  ratio,  viz.  the  sesquialter,  which  is  the 
ratio  of  three  to  two.     The  reason  of  this  is,  because  it  contains 
four  syllables,  one  long,  and  three  short.     But  a  long  syllable  con- 
tains two  times ;    and  three  short  syllables   contain   three    times. 
Hence,  the  short  syllables  have  to  the  long  syllable,  the  ratio  of 
tlirce  to  two,  r.  e.  a  sesquialter  ratio.     Hence,  too,  a  paean  ranks  as 
th3  third  foot.     For  in  the  first  place  are  spondees,  dactyls,  and 
anapests,  which  contain  the  even  ratio  of  one  to  one  ;  in  the  second 
plac:  are  iambics  and  trochaics,  which  contain  the  duple  ratio  of 
two  to  one  ;  and  in  the  third  place  are  pxans,  which  contain  the  ses- 
quialter ratio  of  three  to  two.   As,  therefore,  dactyls,  spondees,  and 
anapests,  and  other  rythms  containing  an  even  ratio,  are  not  adapted 
to  prose,  because  they  art  too  sonorous  and  magnificent ;  and  as 
iambic  and  trochaic  rythms,  and  other  rythms  containing  a  duple 
ratio,  are  also  not  adapted  to  prose,  because  they  are  less  sonorous 
and  magtiificent  than  is  requisite ;  but  the  sesquialter  ratio  is  a  me- 
■■\   dium  between  the  even  and  tlie  duple  ratio,  for  it  exceeds  mor^ 
tJiaa  the  even,  and  less  than  the  double  ;-^thi$  being  the  case,,  it 


CHAP.  vni. 


RHETORIC. 


229 


were  unable  to  say  what  it  was.  But  the  psean  is  the 
tliird  in  order,  and  follows  the  above-mentioned  mea- 
sures ;  for  it  is  in  the  ratio  of  three  to  two ;  but  of  the 
others,  the  one  [i.  e.  the  heroic]  is  in  the  ratio  of  one 
to  one  5  but  the  other  [i.  e.  the  iambic  and  trochaic]  in 
the  ratio  of  two  to  one.  The  sesquialter,  however,  is 
consequent  to  these  two  ratios  ;  and  the  paean  consists  of 
this  ratio.  The  other  rythms,  therefore,  are  to  be  re- 
jected, from  the  above-mentioned  reasons,  and  because 
they  are  metrical ;  but  the  paean  is  to  be  assumed  ;  for 
from  this  alone  of  all  the  rythms  we  have  men- 
tioned, metre  is  not  produced ;  so  that  it  is  especially 
latent. 


At  present,  therefore,  orators  use  only  one  paean,  and 
that  at  the  beginning  of  their  oration.  It  is  necessary* 
however,  that  the  end  should  differ  from  the  beginning. 
But  there  are  two  species  of  paeans  opposite  to  each 
other ;  of  which,  one  is  adapted  to  the  beginning  of  an 
oration,  in  which  way  also  it  is  used  by  orators.  But 
this  is  that  paean,  in  which  the  first  syllable  is  long,  and 
the  other  three  are  short  j  as 

1.  e.  "  DeloB  beg'otten,  or  Lyclan,"  [speaking  of  Apollo.] 

follows  that  the  paean  rythm  is  especially  adapted  to  prose,  as  being 
less  grand  than  the  heroic,  but  grander  than  the  iambic  rythm,  and 
having  a  middle  situation  between  both.  The  truth  of  this  is  con- 
firmed  by  considering,  that  in  prose  we  ought  to  avoid  metre,  and 
should  use  a  rythm  especially  adapted  to  concealment.  But  heroic 
and  iambic  rythms  are  metrical,  and  are  so  manifest  that  they  can* 
not  be  concealed.  The  rythm,  however,  of  paeans  is  not  metrical 
and  may  be  concealed.  Hence,  we  ought  principally  to  use  the  pxan 
rythm  in  prose,  though  we  may  also  sometimes  employ  other  feet. 


230 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  III. 


[where  there  are  two  paeans :]  And, 

<*  O  golden-halr'd  Hecate,  daughter  of  Jove.** 

But  m  the  other  pasan,  on  the  contrary,  the  first  three 
syllables  are  short,  and  the  last  is  long ;  as 

1.  e.  "  Night  concealed  after  the  land,  the  water  and  the  ocean.*' 

This  paean,  however,  terminates  the  course  of  the  ora- 
tion. For  a  short  syllable,  because  it  is  imperfect,  causes 
the  oration  to  be  mutilated.  But  it  is  necessary  that  it 
should  be  amputated  by  a  long  syllable,  and  that  the  end 
of  it  should  be  manifest,  yet  not  from  the  writer,  nor 
from  a  paragraph,  but  from  the  rythm.  And  thus  we 
have  shown  that  diction  ought  to  have  a  proper  rythm, 
and  should  not  be  without  rythm;  and  also  what  the 
rythms  are,  and  how  those  subsist,  that  produce  a  pro- 
per rythm  in  diction. 


.■I-Tg'..'.'i>.ll^«a*i..  .J 


J-j-i.'M  J.. 


CHAP.  IX. 


RHETORIC. 


23 1 


CHAPTER  IX. 


It  is  necessary,  however,  that  diction  should  either  be 
diffuse  and  one  by  a  bond,  as  the  dilatations  in  dithyram- 
bics ;  or  that  it  should  be  periodic,  and  similar  to  the 
antistrophes  of  the  ancient  poets.  Diffuse  diction,  there- 
fore, is  ancient,  as  in  the  work  of  Herodotus  the  Thu- 
rian,  the  beginning  of  which  is,  *'  This  is  the  exposition 
of  history,  &c. ;"  for  this,  formerly,  all  writers  used,  but 
at  present  it  is  not  used  by  many.  But  I  call  the  diction 
diffuse,  which  has  of  itself  no  end,  till  the  thing  which 
IS  discussed  be  brought  to  a  conclusion.  This  diction  is 
however  unpleasant,  on  account  of  the  infinite  ;  for  all 
men  wish  to  see  the  end  of  a  thing.  Hence,  racers  in 
the  turnings  [round  the  goal,]  are  out  of  breath  and 
faint  5  but  prior  to  this,  when  they  have  a  prospect  of 
the  goal,  their  labour  is  not  so  extreme.  Such,  there- 
fore, is  diffuse  diction. 


But  periodic  diction,  is  that  which  consists  of  period*. 
I  call,  however,  a  period,  diction  which  has  of  itself  a 
beginning  and  end,  and  a  magnitude  which  may  easily 
be  perceived.  But  diction  of  this  kind  is  pleasing,  and 
easily  learnt.  It  is  pleasing,  indeed,  because  it  subsists 
in  a  way  contrary  to  that  which  is  boundless ;  and  be- 


232 


THE   ART    OF 


BOOK  Jll. 


cause  the  hearer  always  fancies  he  obtains  something, 
because  there  is  always  something  for  him  which  is 
bounded.  But  it  is  unpleasant  where  nothing  is  fore- 
seen, and  nothing  effected.  It  is  also  easily  learnt,  be- 
cause  it  may  easily  be  remembered.  But  it  may  easily 
be  remembered,  because  this  diction  has  number  in  the 
periods.  Hence,  all  men  remember  verse  more  easily 
than  prose ;  for  it  has  number  by  which  it  is  measured. 
It  is  necessary,  however,  that  a  period  should  contain  a 
complete,  and  not  a  mutilated  and  abrupt  meaning,  as  in 
the  iambics  of  Sophocks. 

Calydon,  the  land  where  Pelops  relgn'd.* 

^  For  the  contrary  might  be  thought  to  be  true,  by  4 
division  of  the  period  ;  as  in  the  above  instance  it  would 
seem  that  Calydoa  is  in  Peloponnesus. 

With  respect  to  periods,  however,  one  is  in  the  colony 
or  members,  but  the  other  is  simple. 

^  But  the  period  which  is  in  the  colons,  is  a  perfect  and 
distinct  diction,  and  in  which  what  is  pronounced  admits 
of  easy  respiration,  and  does  not  consist  in  a  division, 
like  the  above-mentioned  period  of  Sophocles,  but  is 
whole  and  entire.  A  colon,  however,  is  one  part  of 
this  period.  But  I  call  the  period  simple  which  consists 
of  one  colon,  It  is  necessary,  however,  that  the  colons' 
and  the  periocJs  should  peither  be  curtailed,  nor  prolix. 

'  The  sense  here  apparendjr  is,  that  Calydon  is  the  soil  or  land 
over  which  Pelops  formerly  reigned,  and  therefore  pertains  to  Fe- 
loponnesus,  though  it  docs  not,  but  to  ^tolia.  The  sense,  there- 
fore,  is  abrupt  and  mutilated. 


CHAP.  IX. 


RHETORIC. 


2SS 


For  when  the  periods  are  very  short,  they  cause  the 
hearer  to  stumble  frequently.  For  the  mind  of  the 
hearer  being  impelled  farther  to  the  end  which  he  had 
proposed  to  himself,  stumbles  as  it  were,  when  the  orator 
stops  short.  But  prolix  periods  cause  the  auditors  to  be 
left  by  the  orator;  just  as  those  who  in  walking  pass 
beyond  the  boundaries  of  their  walk  ;  for  they  leave 
their  companions  behind.  In  a  similar  manner,  periods 
which  are  long,  become  themselves  an  oration,  and 
resemble  diffuse  diction.  Whence  that  jest  of  Demo- 
critus  the  Chian  upon  Melanippides,  who  dilated  in  his 
writings  instead  of  making  antistrophes.  **  This  man 
frames  evil  for  himself,  in  framing  evil  for  another.  But 
to  dilate  much,  is  the  worst  of  evils  to  him  who  does  it." 
For  a  thing  of  this  kind  may  be  aptly  said,  to  those  who 
use  long  colons.  Very  short  colons,  however,  do  not 
become  periods.  These,  therefore,  hurry  away  the 
auditor  with  them  precipitately.  But  of  periodic  diction, 
which  consists  of  many  colons  or  members,  one  kind  is 
distinct,  and  the  other  opposite.  And  the  distinct,  in- 
deed, is  such  as  [the  beginning  of  the  Panegyric  of 
Isocrates  ;]  "  I  have  often  admired  those  who  collected 
public  assemblies,  and  instituted  the  Gymnastic  contests.'" 
But  the  opposite  is  that  which  consists  of  many  colons, 
and  in  which  either  the  same  thing  is  composed  with 
contraries,  or  contraries  are  composed  with  contraries ; 
as,  [in  the  Panegyric  of  Isocrates,]  "  The  Athenians 
benefited  both  those  that  remained  at  home,  and  those 
that  followed ;  for  they  acquired  more  for  those  that 
followed  them,  than  they  possessed  at  home ;  and  they 
left  sufficient  for  the  support  of  those  that  stayed  behind.'' 
Here  the  contraries  are  staying  and  followingy  sufficient 
and  more.     [And  again  in  the  same  oration  J  ^'  So  that 


234 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  III. 


to  those  who  were  in  want  of  money,  and  to  those  who 
were  willing  to  enjoy  it,  &c."  Here  enjoyment  is  opposed 
to  acquisition.     Farther  still,   "  It  frequently  happens  in 
these  things,  that  prudent  men  are  unfortunate,  and  the 
imprudent  are  prosperous."     And,    "Immediately,  in- 
deed, they  obtained  the  rewards  of  brave  men,  and  not 
long  after  they  became  masters  of  the  sea.*'     Another 
example  is,  "  He  sailed  indeed  through  the  continent, 
but  walked  through  the  sea. — He  joined  the  Hellespont, 
but  dug  through  mount  Athos."    And,  "  Being  citizens 
by  nature,  but  by  law  deprived  of  a  city.     For  some  of 
them,  indeed,  perished  miserably,  but  others  were  shame- 
fully preserved."  And,  "Privately,  indeed,  they  used  Bar- 
barian  servants,  but  publicly  overlooked  many  of  their 
allies  that  were  in  slavery."     And,  «  To  have  them  when 
living,  or  leave  them  when  dead.'"  Or  what  a  certain  per- 
son  said  against  Pitholaus  and  Lycophron  in  a  court  of 
justice,  "  They  sold  you,  indeed,  when  they  were  at  home; 
but  when  they  came  to  us  they  were  themselves  bought." 
For  all  these  instances  make  the  above-mentioned  pe- 
riodic opposite  diction.     Diction,  however,  of  this  kind 
is  pleasing,  because  contraries  are  most  known,  and  when 
placed  by  each  other  are  more  known ;  and  also  because '-' 
they  resemble  a  syllogism.     For  an  elenchus  [or  syllo- 
gism of  contradiction,]  is  a  collection  of  opposites.     A 
thing,  therefore,  of  this  kind  is  antithesis. 

But  adequaHan  takes  place  when  the  colons  or  mem- 
bers are  equal ;  [as,  *•  The  father  died  in  battle,  the  son 
was  married  at  home."] 

■  All  the  above  examples  are  taken  from  the  .Panegyric  of  Is«- 
crates. 


CHAP.  IX. 


RHETORIC. 


235 


And  assimilation  is,  when  both  the  colons  have  similar 
extremes.  But  it  is  necessary  that  they  should  have  si- 
milar extremes,  either  in  the  beginning  or  the  end.  And 
the  beginning  indeed  has  always  [similar]  nouns ;  but 
the  end  has  the  last  syllables  similar,  or  cases  of  the  same 
noun,  or  the  same  noun.  In  the  beginning,  indeed,  the 
similar  extremes  are  such  as  in  the  following  instances. 
"He  received  land  from  him,  but  it  was  uncultivated 
land."     And 

Appeas'd  with  gifts,  and  mollify 'd  with  words:' 

But  the  similar  extremes  in  the  end  are,  *'They  did  not 
think  that  he  had  brought  forth  a  boy,  but  that  he  was 
the  cause  of  his  birth."  "  In  great  cares,  and  in  little 
hopes."  Cases  of  the  same  noun,  are  such  as,  "  But 
he  deserves  to  have  a  brazen  statue,  though  he  is  not 
worthy  of  brass,  [i.  e.  of  a  brazen  coin."  *  ]  And  an 
instance  of  the  repetition  of  the  same  noun  is,  **  You 
while  he  was  living  defamed  him,  and  now  he  is  dead 
write  ill  of  him."  But  an  instance  when  there  is  a  simi- 
litude alone  in  the  last  syllable  is,  "  What  evil  have  you 
suffered,  if  you  have  seen  an  indolent  man  ?"^  A  period 
also  may  have  all  these  at  once,  so  as  not  only  to  consist 

'  This  instance  is  from  the  9th  book  of  the  Iliad,  and  is  what 
rhoenix  says  to  Achilles, 

*  This  is  said  of  a  most  abject  man. 

'  The  instances  adduced  by  Aristotle  are  obvious  in  Greek  or 
Latin,  but  not  in  English.  Thus  the  first  instance,  «  He  received 
land  from  him,  but  it  was  uncultivated  land,"  is  in  Latin,  «  Agrum 
accepit  quodammodo  cBgrum"  hoc  est  sterilem.  And,  " They  did 
not  think  that  he  had  brought  forth  a  boy,  but  that  he  was  the 
cause  of  his  birth,"  is  in  Latin,  «  Non  puerum  peperisse,  sed  ejus 
cansam  extitisse,"  in  which  instance  the  last  syllables  are  simikr- 


236 


THE   ART   OF 


BOOK  III. 


CHAP.  X. 


RHETORIC. 


23 


of  opposite,  but  also  of  equal,  and  similarly  ending 
colons.  The  beginnings,  however,  of  periods  are  nearly 
[all  of  them]  enumerated  in  our  Theodectean  Rhetoric. 
There  are  likewise  false  oppositions,  such  as  Epichar- 
mus  made,  "  Then  I  was  one  of  them,  then  I  was  with 
them." 


CHAPTER  X- 

These  things,  therefore,  being  discussed,  let  us  now 
show  whence  polite  and  the  most  approved  diction  is 
derived.  To  speak  politely,  therefore,  is  the  province 
of  an  ingenious  man,  or  of  one  who  is  exercised  [in 
elocution.]  But  to  show  [the  sources]  from  whence 
polite  diction  is  derived  belongs  to  this  method,  [i.  e.  to 
rhetoric]  We  shall,  therefore,  unfold  and  enumerate 
what  they  are. 

Another  instance  is,  when  the  colons  end  in  cases  derived  from  the' 
same  noun  :  as,  «<  He  deserves  to  have  a  brazen  statue,  though  he 
is  not  worthy  of  brass,"  i.  e.  «  Est  profecto  dignus  aenea  statua,  qui 
non  est  dignus  aere."  The  fourth  instance  is,  when  the  same  word 
is  repeated,  as,  «  You  while  he  was  living  defamed  him,  and  now 
he  is  dead  write  ill  of  him,''  i.  e.  «  Tu  cum  viveret  dicebas  male, 
et  nunc  in  eum  scribi^  male."  And  the  fifth  instance  is,  when  the 
similitude  is  only  in  the  last  syllable  as,  **  What  evil  have  you 
suffered,  if  you  have  seen  an  indolent  man  ?"  i.  e.  "  Quodnair^ 
passus  es  malum,  si  homincm  vidisti  ignavupi  f" 


Let  the  beginning,  therefore,  be  this :  to  learn  easily 
is  naturally  delightful  to  all  men;  but  names  signify 
something.  Hence  such  names  as  cause  us  to  learn,  are 
most  pleasing.  Foreign  tongues,  therefore,  are  unknown; 
but  proper  w^ords  we  know.  Metaphor,  however,  espe- 
cially causes  diction  to  be  polite.  For  when  the  poet' 
says  that  "  Old  age  is  stubble,"  he  produces  in  us  learn- 
ing and  knowledge  through  the  genus,  [i.  e.  through 
the  agreement  of  old  age  and  stubble  ;]  since  both 
produce  a  defloration.  The  images,  therefore,  of  poets 
produce  indeed  the  same  thing  ;  and  hence,  if  they  are 
well  employed,  the  diction  will  appear  to  be  polite.  For 
an  image,  as  we  have  before  obser^-ed,  is  a  metaphor, 
differing  from  it  in  the  collocation ;  on  which  account  it 
is  less  pleasing  because  it  is  a  longer  [simile  ;]  and  it 
does  not  say  this  thing  is  that.  Hence  in  a  metaphor 
the  mind  does  not  investigate  the  similitude ;  [i.  e.  its 
attention  is  not  diverted  from  the  object  to  which  it  is 
directed.]  That  diction,  therefore,  and  those  enthy- 
memes  must  necessarily  be  polite,  which  cause  us  to  learn 
or  produce  in  us  knowledge  rapidly. 

Hence,  neither  are  superficial  enthymemes  approved  ; 
(for  we  call  those  enthymemes  superficial,  w^hich  are 
manifest  to  every  one,  and  which  require  no  investi- 
gation) nor  such  as  when  produced,  are  not  understood  ; 
but  those  only  render  the  diction  polite,  which  are  under- 
stood as  soon  as  they  are  uttered,  though  there  was  no 
previous  knowledge  of  them,  or  which  shortly  after  lead 
us  to  the  knowledge  of  something,  of  which  we  were 
io-norant.     For  by  the  latter  enthy memos  discipline  is  as 

«  Odyss.  lib.  13. 


.;  I 


238 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  Hi, 


it  were  produced,  but  by  no  means  by  the  former.  En- 
thymemes,  therefore,  of  this  kind  are  approved,  from 
the  sense  or  meaning  of  the  diction. 

Urbanity,  however,  is  produced  in  the  figure  or  form 
of  the  diction,  if  contraries  are  opposed  to  contraries,  as 
[m  the  Oration  of  Isocrates  de  Pace,]  ««And  they 
thought  that  the  peace  which  is  common  to  the  other 
Greeks,  was  "war  to  their  own  private  affairs."  For  here 
war  is  opposed  to  peace. 

Urbanity  also  is  produced  in  names  or  words,  if  they 
are  metaphorical ;  and  the  metaphor  is  neither  foreign 
for  this  is  difficult  to  understand ;    nor  superficial    for 
this  does  not  affect  the  hearer.     Farther  still,  urbanity 
in  diction  IS  produced,  if  the  thing  itself  is  placed  before 
the  eyes ;  for  it  is  more  necessary  to  see  what  has  been 
than  what  will  be  done.    It  is  requisite,  therefore,  to  pay 
attention  to  these  three  things,  viz.  metaphor,  antithesis! 
and  energy,  ' 

As,  however,  there  are  four  kinds  of  metaphors,  those  ^ 
are  most  approved  which  subsist  according  to  analogy  • 
as  when  Pericles  said,    "  That  youth  perishing  In  battle 
was  taken  away  from  the  city,  just  as  if  some  one  should 
take  away  the  spring  from  the  year."     And  as  Leptines 
said  of  the  Lacedaemonians,  «  That  the  Athenians  should 
not  suffer  Greece  to  be  deprived  of  its  other  eye/^    Thus 
too  Cephisodotus,  when  Chares  was  anxious  to  give  an 
account  of  the  Olynthiac  war,  said  indignantly,  ^^  That 
while  he  endeavoured  to  give  the  people  an  account  of 
his  conduct,  he  kept  them  in  a  furnace."    And  the  same 
person  once  exhorting  the  Athenians  to  forage  in  Euboea 


CHAP.  X. 


RHETORIC. 


239 


said,  "It  was  necessary  that  the  decree  of  Miltiades 
should  proceed  [to  the  Euboic  expedition.]  And  Iphi- 
crates,  when  the  Athenians  had  made  a  league  with 
Epidaurus,  and  the  sea  coast,  said  indignantly,  "  That 
they  had  deprived  themselves  of  the  viatica  of  war.'* 
And  Pitholaus,  called  the  Athenian  ship  which  was  deno- 
minated Paralus,  the  club  (ropalon)  of  the  people.  He 
also  called  Sestus,'  the  granary  of  the  Pyrceum.  Peri- 
cles, likewise,  exhorted  the  Athenians  to  destroy  Ogina,  as 
the  ophthalmy  of  the  Pirceum,  And  Merocles,  naming  a 
certain  worthy  person,  said,  "  That  he  was  in  no  respect 
more  depraved  than  this  person,  for  with  respect  to  him, 
he  had  taken  three  per  cent,  interest,  but  that  he  himself  had 
taken  ten  per  cent."*  And  the  iambic  of  Anaxandrides 
upon  his  daughters  that  were  a  long  time  before  they  mar- 
ried, "  The  virgins  have  passed  beyond  the  appointed  day 
of  wedlock."'  To  these  may  be  added,  what  Polyeuctus 
said  on  one  Speusippus  who  was  [a  restless  man  and] 
apoplectic,  **  That  he  could  not  be  quiet,  though  he  was 
bound  by  fortune  in  the  Pentesyringian*  disease."    Cephi- 


*  This  was  a  town  of  the  Hellespont,  from  which  every  year 
the  Athenians  brought  a  great  quantity  of  corn  into  the  Pyrgeum. 

*  In  order  to  understand  this  example,  it  is  requisite  to  observe, 
that  the  word  tojcoj  employed  here  by  Aristotle  signifies  both  usury 
ard  a  son.  The  meaning,  therefore,  of  the  passage  is,  that  Mero- 
cles, who  had  ten  sons  and  was  accused  as  a  depraved  usurer 
because  he  had  taken  ten  per  cent,  annually  for  the  education  of  his 
ten  sons,  named  a  certain  worthy  man  who  had  three  sons,  and  took 
three  per  cent,  annually  for  their  education. 

^  This  metaphor  is  taken  from  a  term  of  law  relative  to  a  court 
of  justice,  i.  e.  intra  diem  judicii  non  stetisse, 

^  The  Pentesyringus  was  an  instrument  in  which  there  were  five 
holes,  and  in  which  the  head,  arms  and  feet  of  defendants  were  sf5 
fi"xed,  that  they  could  not  by  any  means  move  themselves.    Because, 


240 


THE  ART  OH 


BOOK  11  r. 


CHAP.  X. 


RHETORIC. 


241 


sodotus   likewise    called    three-hanked  g allies,   various 
haking^hQuses.'     But  the  dog  [i.  e,  Diogenes]  called 
taverns,  ilie  Attic  Phiditia.'     And  Asion  said,  "  That 
the  Athenians  had  poured  forth  their  city  into  Sicily  ;'* 
for  this  is  a  metaphor,  and  phces  the  thing  before  the 
eyes.    Asion  adds,  ['*  That  the  Athenians  had  so  poured 
forth  their  city  into  Sicily,]  that  Greece  vociferated.'* 
For  this  also  is  after  a  manner  a  metaphor,  and  places 
the  thing  before  the  eyes.     Cephisodotus  also  exhorted 
the   Athenians  to  beware   ''  That  they  did   not  make 
their  assemblies  hostile  congresses.''     And  Isocrates  said^ 
*'  [That  the  sophists  addressed  themselves]  to  those  who 
run  together  in  the  public  assemblies."     And  as  in  the 
funeral  oration  [of  Lysias,]  "  It  was  but  just  that  Greece 
should  cut  off  her  hair  on  the  tomb  of  those  who  died 
at  Salamis,  because  her  liberty  was  buried  with  their 
virtue."     For  if  he  had  said,  "  That  it  was  but  just 
Greece  should  weep,   in  consequence   of  virtue  being 
buried  [with  those  who  died  at  Salamis,"]  it  would  have 
been  [only]  a  metaphor,  and  the  thing  would  have  been 
placed  before  the  eyes.     But  the  words  «  liberty  was 
buried  with  virtue,"   have  a  certain  antithesis.     And  as 
Iphicrates  said,  «  The  path  of  my  oration  is  through  the 
midst  of  the  transactions  of  Chares."      For  this   is  a 
metaphor  according  to  analogy ;  and  the  words,  "through 
the  midst,"  place  the  thing  before  our  eyes.      And  to 
say,  "  To  call  on  dangers  to  give  assistance  to  dangers," 

therefore,  apoplexy  renders  a  man  immoveable,  Polyeuctus,  called 
Spetisippus  pentesi^ringus, 

'  Because  as  baking.hou-.es  supplied  the  city  with  bread,  so  thp 
three-banked  gallics  supplied  it  w  iih  corn. 

^  *  The  Phiditia  were  the  banquets  or  suppers  of  the  Lawd^emo- 
mans.  ' 


is  to  place  the  thing  before  the  eyes,  and  is  a  metaphor. 
Another  instance  is  that  of  Lycoleon  in  defence  of 
Chabrias,  «*  Neither  will  you  revere  his  suppliant  brazen 
statue  ?"  For  this  is  a  metaphor  in  the  present  time,  but 
not  always,  and  places  the  thing  before  the  eyes.  For 
he  being  in  danger,  the  statue  supplicates  for  him  ;  and 
supplication  is  attributed  to  an  inanimate  statue,  which 
is  the  property  of  an  animated  thing.  And,  **  A  inonu-^ 
ment  of  the  works  of  the  city."  And,  **  They  meditated 
by  every  possible  way  to  have  groveling  conceptions." ' 
For  to  meditate  is  to  increase  something.  And  ao-ain, 
*«  That  God  enkindled  the  light  of  intellect  in  the  soul." 
For  both  [light  and  intellect]  accord  in  illuminating. 
And,  "  For  we  do  not  dissolve  war,  but  defer  it."* 
For  both  deferring  and  a  peace  of  this  kind  signify 
something  future.  And  to  say,  "  That  the  compacts 
of  peace  are  a  trophy  much  more  beautiful  than  those 
which  are  procured  in  w^ar.  For  the  latter  are  obtained 
for  things  of  small  consequence,  and  through  one  for- 
tune  ;  but  the  former,  for  every  battle." '  For  both  [a 
trophy  and  a  compact]  are  indications  of  victory.  And 
*^That  cities  through  the  censure  of  men  suffer  great 
punishment."^     For  punishment  is  a  certain  just  injury. 

■  This  instance  is  taken  from  Isocrates  in  Panegyr.  concerning 
the  abject  manners  of  the  Persians. 

*  This  also  is  from  the  Panegyric  of  Isocrates,  where  he  speaks 
of  the  Greeks  of  his  time,  who  made  a  peace  which  was  neither  firm, 
nor  lasting. 

^  This  also  is  from  the  same  oratioin  of  Isocrates. 

^  The  analogy  here  consists  in  this,  that  as  those  who  violate  tlie 
laws  suflfer  a  detriment  in  money,  through  fine,  thus  cities  when 
they  are  badly  conducted  suffer  through  censure  a  detriment  in 
honour. 

Arist.  VOL.  I,  Q 


jf>.-gVi«8uaiLAkA»aAj'jiii?j.<'  '-t-AjnEAj  ■^■•«..-><:. 


24^ 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  III. 


And  thus  we  have  shown  how  polite  diction  may  be  de- 
rived from  metaphor  according  to  the  analogous,  and  from 
placing  a  thing  before  the  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XL 


Let  us  now  show  what  we  mean  by  placing  a  thing 
before  the  eyes,  and  what  is  to  be  done  in  order  to  effect 
this.  I  say  then,  that  those  words  place  a  thing  before 
the  eyes  which  signify  things  energizing.  Thus  for  in- 
stance to  say  **  That  a  good  man  is  a  square,"  is  meta- 
phorical y  for  both  a  good  man  and  a  square  are  perfect ; 
but  it  does  not  signify  energy.  But  to  say  "  Possessing 
a  flourishing  acme,'"  signifies  energy.  Likewise  to  say, 
**  But  you  as  liberated,"  indicates  energy.     And, 

Then  with  impetuous  feet  forth  rush'd  the  Greeks.  * 

Here  the  word  impetuous  is  energy,  and  a  metaphor.  ^ 
Thus  too  energy  is  every  where  exhibited  by  Homer, 

'  Both  this  and  the  instance  that  follows  it  are  taken  from  Iso- 
crates. 

*  From  the  Iphigenia  of  Euripides. 

'  Because  it  is  taken  from  the  energy  employed  by  runners  in 
the  act  of  running. 


CHAP.  XI. 


RHETORIC. 


243 


who  speaks  of  inanimate  things  as  animated,  through  a 
metaphor.  But  to  produce  energy  in  every  thing  [as 
he  does,]  is  very  much  applauded  ;  as  in  the  following 
instances. 


Back  on  the  ground  then  roll'd  the  shameless  stone. » 


And, 


The  arrow  flew.  ^ 


And, 


Longing  to  strike.  ^ 


And, 


Trojan  and  Grecian  darts  in  earth  then  stood, 
And  longM  to  gorge  themselves  with  human  blood. 


And, 

The  furious  pointed  dart  then  pierc'd  his  breast. ' 

For  in  all  these  instances,  because  the  things  are  animat- 
ed, they  appear  to  energize.  For  to  be  shameless  and 
furious,  &c.  are  energies.  But  Homer  has  added  these 
through  metaphor  from  analogy.  For  as  the  stone  is 
to  Sisyphus,  so  is  an  impudent  person  to  him  whom  he 
impudently  torments.    Homer,  likewise,  in  his  celebrated 

'  From  Odyss.  II,  where  the  labour  of  Sisyphus  is  described. 

*  From  Iliad,  13. 

^  This  is  from  the  same  place  as  the  above,  in  which  Homer 
attributes  to  an  arrow  the  vital  energy  of  desiring. 

*  Iliad,  15. 

'  From  the  15th  Iliad,  where  Homer,  speaking  of  a  dart  hurled 
by  Menelaus,  ascribes  to  it  fury. 


244 


TliE    ART    OF 


BOOK  ItT, 


images  attributes  to  inanimate  things  the  proper  energies 
of  such  as  are  animated,  as, 

Th'  afflicted  deeps  tumultuous  mix  and  roar ; 
The  waves  behind  Impel  the  waves  before, 
Wide-foirmg,  foaming  high,  and  tumbling  to  the  shore*  * 

For  he  makes  every  thing  moving  and  living ;  but  energy 
is  imitation.  Metaphors,  however,  ought  to  be  derived, 
as  we  have  before  observed,  from  things  familiar  and  not 
obvious ;  just  as  in  philosophy,  it  is  the  province  of  a  sa- 
gacious man  to  survey  the  similar  in  things  very  different 
from  each  other,  as  Archyras  says,  "  That  an  arbiter 
and  an  altar  are  the  same  thing  ;  for  he  who  is  injured 
flies  to  both  these."  Or  if  some  one  should  say  "  That 
an  anchor  and  cremastra  are  the  same  thing.'**  For 
both  perform  an  office  which  is  in  a  certain  respect  the 
same  ;  but  they  differ  in  this,  that  the  one  is  fixed  above, 
and  the  other  beneath.  To  say  also  that  cities  are  ano- 
malous [is  another  instance  of  an  appropriate  metaphor 
taken  from  things  very  dissimilar* J  For  as  a  superficies 
is  said  to  be  anomalous  because  one  part  rises  above 
another,  so  a  city  may  be  said  to  be  anomalous  when 
some  of  the  citizens  in  it  surpass  others  in  power. 


Polite  diction,  however,  is  for  the  most  part  effected 
through  metaphor  and  previous  deception.  For  the  dic- 
tion which  not  only  causes  us  to  learn  something  of 
which  we  were  before  ignorant,  but  also  something  about 
which  we  had  been  before  deceived,  is  more  polite  and 

■  Iliad,  1 3,  The  translation  by  Pope. 

*  A  cremastra  was  a  hook  fixed  in  the  ceiling  of  a  house  so  tliat 
tilings  might  be  suspended  from  it,  and  it  resembled  an  anchor. 


X     .ig   .^  >         ^    ■ 


CHAP.  XI. 


RHETORIC. 


245 


pleasant,  since  the  mind  passing  from  error  to  truth  Is 
delighted,  and  says  to  itself,  "  How  true  is  this  which  I 
have  learnt !  I  was  in  an  error,"  Of  apothegms,  like- 
wise, those  are  polite,  which  imply  something  different 
from  what  the  words  at  first  seem  to  signify ;  as  that 
apothegm  of  Stesichorus,  ^'  That  the  grasshoppers  would 
sing  to  them  on  the  ground." '  Good  enigmas,  also, 
are  for  the  same  reason  pleasing ;  for  they  cause  us 
to  learn  something,  and  are  metaphorical  ;  and,  as 
Theodorus  says,  "  It  is  pleasing  to  say  something  new." 
But  this  is  effected,  when  what  is  said  is  paradoxical,  and 
(as  he  says)  is  not  conformable  to  prior  opinion  ;  but  as 
in  ridiculous  assertions  is  slightly  transformed.  This 
likewise  is  capable  of  being  effected  by  jests,  in  which 
the  letters  of  the  words  are  somewhat  changed ;  for 
these  [pleasantly]  deceive  the  hearer.  And  also  in 
verse;  for  something  is  said  different  from  what  thjj. 
hearer  expected. 


'*  He  walk'd  along,  with  cltUhlains  (;^iju,g7Xa)  on  his 
feet."  But  the  hearer  expected  it  would  have  been  said 
that  he  had  sandals  (ws'^i'Kol)  on  his  feet.  This  kind  of 
jest,  however,  ought  to  be  immediately  manifest.  Para- 
grams,  or  jests  formed  by  the  mutation  of  letters  are 
produced,  when  that  is  not  signified  which  the  word  at 
first  sight  seemed  to  signify,  as  that  jest  of  Theodorus 
upon  Nicon  the  harper.  For  [Nicon  having  been  vexed 
by  a  certain  person,]  Theodorus  deriding  him  said 
OpotTTY)   (Ts^  which  appears  as  if  he  had  said,  "  He  dis* 

'  This  was  said  by  Stesichorus  of  the  Locrlans,  and  signified  that 
their  country  would  be  so  desolate,  that  no  tree  would  remain,  on 
which  the  grasshoppers  could  ascend,  so  that  they  wotdd  be  forced 
to  sing  on  the  ground. 


246 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  in. 


iurhsyoUy'  dparTsi  <r£,  and  deceives  the  hearer.  For  in 
reality  he  said,  "  He  makes  you  a  Thracian.'"  '  Hence, 
this  is  pleasing  to  him  who  learns  [the  true  meaning  of 
what  is  said.]  For  unless  the  hearer  apprehended  that 
Nicon  was  a  Thracian,  the  jest  would  not  appear  to  be 
polite.  Thus,  also,  to  say  Boj'Kbi  auroy  Tspa-ai,  seems  at 
the  first  view  to  signify  "  Are  you  willing  to  vex  him  ?" 
[But  the  true  meaning  is,  '^  are  you  willing  to  make 
him  a  favourer  of  the  Persians,  and  a  betrayer  of  the 
Greeks?"] 

It  is  requisite,  however,  that  each  sense  of  the  ambi- 
guous word  should  be  adapted  to   him  of  whom  it   is 
said.     Another  example  is  such  as  the  following  :  "The 
arche  of  the  sea  was  not  to  the  Athenians   the   arcke  of 
evils ;  for  they  derived  advantage  from  it."  *     And  as 
Isocrates  says,   "  The  arche  of  the  sea  was  to  the  city 
[i.  e.  to  the  Athenians]  the  arc/ie  of  evils."     For  in  both 
these  instances  the  real  meaning  is  diflerent  from  what 
at  the  first  view  it  appears  to  be,  and  the  hearer  knows 
that  what  is  asserted  is  true.     For  to  say  that   arche 
was  archcy  is  to  say  nothing  to  the  purpose ;  but  this  is 
not  what  is  said  in  the   above   instances ;    nor   is   that 
denied   which   is  asserted,    but  the  word   has  another 
meaning.     In  all  these  instances,   however,  if  the  word 
is  appropriately  employed,  whether  it  be  an  homonymous 
word,  or  a  metaphor,  then  the  diction  is  proper.     As  if 
[the  name  of  some  one  were  Anaschetus   (ai/a<r;^sTo^)] 
and  it  should  be  said  that  Anaschetus  is  not  anaschetus^ 

'  By  this  he  wittily  insinuated  that  the  mother  of  Nicon  was  a 
Thracian  servant. 

*  For  the  word  u^^n  arche  signifies  both  dominion  and  the  de- 
ginning. 


>ra'^<i?iii.«W3iJiaa.tMria'-  '.c-.iUi.^.?- 


CHAP.  XI. 


RHETORIC. 


247 


[i.  e.  importunate ;]  for  he  who  says  this,  denies  the  ho- 
monymous signification  of  the  word.  And  this  is  appro- 
priately effected,  if  the  word  is  always  used  twice.  Again, 
"  O  hospes  [i.  e.  guest,]  you  will  not  become  more  hospes 
than  is  requisite."  And,  "  it  is  not  necessary  that  hopes 
should  always  be  hopes."  For  this  also  is  foreign*  The 
same  thing  also  is  effected  in  the  celebrated  saying  of 
Anaxandrides,  "  It  is  a  beautiful  thing  to  die,  prior  to 
having  done  any  thing  deserving  of  death.**  For  this  is 
the  same  thing  as  to  say,  *^  It  is  worth  while  to  die,  when 
not  deserving  to  die.'*  Or,  "  It  is  worth  while  to  die, 
when  not  deserving  of  death,  or  not  doing  things  wor- 
thy of  death."  The  form  of  diction,  therefore,  is  the 
same  in  these  instances ;  but  in  proportion  as  they  are 
shorter,  and  contain  a  greater  opposition,  in  such  propor- 
tion they  are  more  elegant  and  pleasing.  The  cause, 
however,  of  this  is,  that  we  in  a  greater  degree  learn 
something  from  opposition  ;  and  that  this  is  more  rapid- 
ly effected  by  brevity.  But  it  is  always  necessary  that 
the  person  should  be  present  on  whom  the  thing  is  said, 
or  that  it  should  be  rightly  said,  if  the  assertion  is  true, 
and  not  superficial ;  for  these  two  things  may  exist  sepa- 
rately. Thus  for  instance,  to  say,  "  It  is  necessary  to 
die  free  from,  all  faults  ;'*  and  "  It  is  requisite  that  a 
worthy  man  should  marry  a  worthy  woman,**  [is  true,] 
but  is  not  politely  said.  But  to  say,  "  It  is  worth  while 
to  die,  when  not  deserving  to  die,**  is  both  true,  and  po- 
litely  said.  The  diction,  also,  will  appear  to  be  more 
polite,  the  more  it  contains  of  those  things  from  which 
politeness  is  derived ;  as,  if  the  words  are  metaphorical, 
and. metaphors  of  such  a  kind,  and  if  there  is  antithesis, 
adequation  and  energy. 


248 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  in. 


Images,  likewise,  as  we  have  before  observed,  are  al- 
ways after  a  manner  approved  metaphors ;   for  they  are 
always  derived  from  two  things,  in  the  same  manner  as 
an  analogous  metaphor.     Thus  we  say  that  a  shield  is 
the  cup  of  Mars,  and  that  a  how  is  a  siringless  harp. 
When  we  thus  speak,  however,  the  assertion  is  not  sim- 
pie.     But  to  say  that  a  bow  is  a  harp,  or  a  shield  a  cup. 
is  a  simple  assertion.     They  assimilate,  however,   as  fol- 
lows :  as,  a  player  on  the  flute  to  an  ape  ;  ^  and  a  short- 
Sighted  man  to  a  trickling  lamp ;  for  in  both  there  is  a 
contraction.     But  images  are  celebrated  when  they  con- 
tarn  a  metaphor.     For  it  is  to  assimilate,  to  say  that  a 
shield  IS  the  cup  of  Mars  ;  that  a  ruinous  buildiiig  is  a 
mrn.out  garment ;    and  that  Niceratus,  according  to 
the  assimilation  of  Thrasymachus,  was  Fhiloctetes  bit  by 
[the  poet]  Pratijs.    For  Thrasymachus  said  this,  in  con- 
sequence of  seeing  Niceratus  vanquished  by  Pratys  in  a 
poetical  contest,  and   through    this  neglecting   his  per- 
son.     In  these  similitudes,  however,   poets   fail   unless 
they  are  proper,  even  if  they  are  celebrated.     I  mean, 
for  instance,  when  they  say. 


He  carries  legs  lifce  parsley  bent» 


And, 


As  Phllammon  with  Corycus*  yok'd 
In  contest. 


»  For  apes  sit  In  a  contracted  posture  with  their  hands  on  their 
mouth ;  and  players  oh  the  flute,  while  they  inflate  it,  seem  to 
Jiiiitate  apes. 

-  Phllammon  and  Corycus  were  two  athletas,  neither  of  whom 
was  easily  vanquished  by  the  other.    The  similitude,  however,  is 


CHAP.  xr. 


RHETORIC. 


249 


And  all  such  things  are  images.     But  that  images  are 
metaphors,  has  been  frequently  observed  by  us. 

Proverbs  likewise  are  metaphors  from  species  to  spe- 
cies [i.  e.  in  which  one  species  is  predicated  of  another 
on  account  of  agreement  in  the  same  genus.]  Thus  of 
him  who  expects  to  derive  advantage  from  a  certain  thing, 
if  he  should  afterwards  suffer  a  loss  from  it,  it  is  said, 
as  the  Carpathian  the  hare, '  For  both  suffered  the  evil 
we  have  mentioned.  And  thus  we  have  nearly  assigned 
the  cause  whence  and  why  diction  is  polite. 

Celebrated  hyperboles  also  are  metaphors  ;  as  of  one 
who  had  contusions  on  his  face,  **  You  would  have 
thought  him  to  be  a  basket  of  mulberries ;"  for  the  part 
under  the  eyes  is  red  ;  but  this  hyperbole  is  much  too 
p-reat.  An  hyperbole,  however,  may  differ  from  an  hy- 
perbole  in  the  diction  ;  as,  instead  of  saying  "  Philam- 
mon  yoked  in  contest  with  Corycus,'*  it  might  be  said, 
*<  You  would  have  thought  it  was  Philammon  fighting 
with  Corycus."  And  instead  of  saying,  "  He  carried 
legs  as  distorted  as  parsley,"  it  might  be  said,  "  I  should 
have  thought  that  he  had  not  legs  but  parsley,  they  are 
so  distorted."  Hyperboles,  however,  are  puerile  ;  for  they 


unapt,  through  which  two  athletse  contending  with  each  other  with 
equal  powers  are  compared  to  two  oxen  drawing  the  same  yoke. 
In  the  Oxford  edition  it  is  t*  x«gvxf»  instead  of  rot  Ko^vkv,  as  if  Phl- 
lammon was  yoked  in  contest  with  a  kind  of  ball,  instead  of  being 
yoked  with  Corycus. 

•  We  are  informed  by  Pollux  (lib.  1.)  that  once  there  were  no 
hares  in  the  island  Carpathus,  and  that  the  Carpathians,  finding  that 
animal  was  very  good  food,  brought  a  male  and  female  hare  into 
tieir  island.     Because,  however,  hares  are  very  prolific,  they  mul- 


250 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  III. 


indicate  a  vehement  [motion  of  the  soul.]  Hence  they 
are  especially  used  by  those  who  are  angry.  [Thus 
Achilles,  m  Ihad  9.  speaks  hyperbolical  ly.  when  he  says 
he  IS  not  to  be  appeased  by  the  gifts  of  AgamemnonJ 


Tho'  bribes  were  heap'd  on  bribes  in  number  more, 
Than  dust  m  fields,  or  sands  along  the  shore. 


And, 


Atrides'  daughter  never  shall  be  led. 
An  iU-match'd  consort  to  Achilles'  bed ; 
Like  golden  Venus  though  she  charm'd  the  heart. 
Or  vied  with  Pallas  in  the  works  of  art. 

The  Attic  rhetoricians,  also,  especially  use  hyperboles : 
;"ealt;:Sly.  ^^  ""^^^^'"^"^  ^"  ^  ^^'  ^^  ^ 


CHAPTER  XII. 

« 

rent""!!"— '''r^"'f '  °°'  '°^'  '>°^^'^'  '^^'  ^  diffe- 
rent  Action  is  adapted  to  each  genus  of  orations.     For 

tiplied  so  exceedingly  in  a  short  time,  as  to  destroy  all  the  fruits  of 
he  land  to  the  great  detriment  of  the  Carpathians.   Hence  hame 

Z^:s^tZ^:^  suffered  a  loss"  frr; 

paMan  the  hare.  ^  '"^'  advantage.  As  tie  Car^ 


WaMtii^ijSl  aii!^aiL:i^■a^i^fa^•|^M«^^^i!&»^ .. 


CHAP.  xn. 


RHETORIC. 


251 


graphic  and  agonistic  diction  [i.  e.  the  diction  employ- 
ed in  writing  and  at  the  bar']  are  not  the  same ;  nor 
forensic,  and  that  which  is  employed  in  popular  ha- 
rangues. 

But  It  is  necessary  to  know  both  these  kinds  of  dic- 
tion.    For  to  know  the  one,  is  to  know  how  to  speak 
properly  ;  and  by  a  knowledge  of  the  other,  we  are  not 
compelled  to  be  silent,  when  we  wish  to    impart  some- 
thing to  others,  which  those  suffer  who  do  not  know  how 
to  write.     But  graphic  diction,  or  the  diction  pertaining 
to  writing,  is  indeed  most  accurate ;  but  the   agonistic, 
or  that  which  belongs  to  the  bar,  is  most  adapted  to  ac- 
tion.    Of  this  latter,  however,   there   are  two  species ; 
one    ethical,    but   the    other  pathetic.      Hence,    also, 
players  chuse  dramas  of  this  kind,  and  poets  chuse  such 
like  players  [to  act  their  fables.]     Those  poets,  likewise, 
are  most  approved,  whose  fables  delight,  not  only  when 
acted,  but  also  when  read  ;  such  as  those  of  Chaeremon, 
whose  diction  is  as  accurate  as  that  of  any  writer  of  ora- 
tions ;  and  among  the  dithyrambic  poets,  those  of  Licyra- 
nicus.      When  orations  also   are  compared  with  each 
other,  those  which  are  written,  will  appear  when  recited 
in  forensic   contests  to   be  jejune.     On  the  other  hand, 
those  orations  which  when  publicly  delivered  are  heard 
with  applause,  if  they  are  perused  when  written,  will  ap- 
pear to  be  unpolished  and  inaccurate;  the  reason  of  which 
is,  that  they  are  [merely]  adapted   to   forensic  contests. 
Hence,  those  which   are   adapted   to  action,   when  de- 
prived of  action,  in  consequence  of  not  accomplishing 
their  proper  work  appear   to  be  jejune.     Thus,  for  in- 
stance, disjointed  sentences,  and  frequent  repetition,  are 
rightly  rejected  in  the  diction  pertaining  to  writing  ;  but 


252 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  III. 


CHAP.  xn. 


RHETORIC. 


25: 


rhetoricians  use  these  in  the  diction  which  belongs  to  the 
bar ;  for  both  these  are  adapted  to  action.     This  repeti- 
tion,  however,  ought  to  be  delivered  with  a  change  of  the 
TOice ;  which  as  it  were  prepares  the  way  for  action ;  as. 
He  u  IS  who  robbed  you  ;  he  it  is  who  deceived  you  • 
he  It  IS  who  at  last  endeavoured  to  betray  you  •"  as  Phi- 
lemon the  player  also  did,  whilst  he  acted  in  the  Geron- 
tomana  of  Anaxandrides,  when  Rhadamanthus  and  Pala- 
medes  speak ;  and  also  in  the  prologue  of  the  play  call- 
ed the  Ptous,  wh^re  /  is  frequently  repeated.     For  if 
such  repetitions  are  not  accompanied  with  action,  the 
actor  [according  to  the  proverb,]  will  seem  to  carry  a 
beam.     The  like  also  must  be  observed  with  respect'  to 
disjointed  sentences  ;  such  as,  /  came,  I  met  him,  7  re- 
quested  htm.     For  it  is  necessary  that  these  should  be 
accompamed  with  action,  and  not,  as  if  only  one  thing 
was  said,  pronounced  with  the  same  manner,  and  the 
same  tone  of  voice.    Farther  still,  disjointed  diction  pos- 
sesses something  peculiar ;  since  in  an  equal  time  many 
things  appear  to  be  said.     For  the  conjunction  [or  con- 
nective copula]  causes  many  things  to  be  one ;  so  that 
It  «  is  taken  away,  it  is  evident  that  on  the  contrary  one 
thing  will  be  many.     Hence,  he  amplifies  who  says,   '« I 
came,  I  spoke  to  him,  I  supplicated  him  much ;  but  he 
seems  to  despise  whatever  I  have  said,  whatever  I  do 
^y.       Homer  also  intends  to  do  this,  when  speaking  of 
Nireus  [in  the  2d  book  of  the  Iliad,]  he  says, 

Tliree  ships  with  Nireus  sought  the  Trojan  shore, 
Nireus,  whom  Aglae  to  Charopus  bore, 
Nireus,  in  faultless  shape  and  blooming  grace, 
The  loveliest  youth  of  all  the  Grecian  race. 

For.  he,  of  whom  many  things  are  said,  must  necessarily 


}0 


be  frequently  mentioned.  If,  therefore,  he  is  frequently 
mentioned,  many  things  also  appear  to  be  said  of  him. 
Hence  Homer,  though  he  has  only  mentioned  Nireus  ia 
one  place,  amplifies  from  paralogism, '  and  mentions 
him  here,  though  he  did  not  intend  to  mention  him  in 
any  other  place  afterwards. 

The  diction  therefore  adapted  to  popular  harangues 
perfectly  resembles   sciagraphy ;  '  for  the  greater  the 
number  of  the  spectators,  the  more  remotely  is  such 
a  picture  to  be  seen.     Hence,  in  both  accuracy  is  super- 
fluous, and  both  become  worse  through  it.      But  judi- 
cal diction  is  more  accurate  ;  and  it  is  requisite  that  the 
diction  should  be  still  more  accurate,  which  is  addressed 
to  one  judge  ;  for  this  is  the  least  thing  in  rhetorical  die 
tion.     For  that  which  is  appropriate  to,  and  that  which 
is  foreign  from  a  thing,  are  more  easily  perceived.     In 
this  case,  also,  contention  is  absent ;   so  that  the  judg- 
ment is   pure.     Hence,   the  same  rhetoricians  are  not 
celebrated  in  all  these  kinds  of  diction ;  but  where  action 
is  especially  necessary,  there  accuracy  is  in  the  smallest 
degree  requisite.     And  where  voice,  and  especially  a 
loud  one  is  required,  there  action  is  necessary. 

-  Homer,  by  thrice  repeating  the  name  of  Nireus,  causes  us  to 
t^:nk  that  much  will  be  said  of  him  in  the  Iliad,  and  therefore  by 
this  repetition,  though  he  no  where  else  mentions  him  m  the  whole 
Iliad,  yet  he  so  impresses  the  name  and  renown  of  Nireus  on  the 
memory  of  the  reader,  as  if  much  would  be  said  of  him. 

»  Sciagraphy  was  by  the  Greeks  denominated  a  picture,  which 

is  only  adumbrated  and  not  coloured.     Pictures  of  this  kind,  when 

seen  at  a  great  distance,  seem  to  be  perfected,  but  if  inspected  when 

near,  they  then  appear  to  be  only,  what  they  are  in  reality,  adum- 

brated. 


254 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK   III. 


Demonstrative  diction,  therefore,  is  most  proper  for 
writing;  for  demonstrative  orations  are  composed  in 
order  that  they  may  be  read.  But  judicial  diction  is  the 
next  in  order.  It  is  however  superfluous  to  divide  dic- 
tion into  the  pleasing  and  magnificent.  For  why  may  it 
not  as  well  be  divided  into  the  temperate  and  liberal,  or 
into  any  other  ethical  virtues.  For  it  is  evident  that 
the  particulars  already  mentioned  will  render  it  pleasing, 
if  the  virtue  of  diction  has  been  rightly  defined  by  us. 
For  why  ought  it  to  be  perspicuous,  and  not  abject,  but 
decorous  ?  since  it  will  not  be  perspicuous  either  if  it  be 
verbose,  or  concise  ;  but  it  is  evident  that  the  medium 
between  these  is  appropriate.  The  particulars,  also,  be- 
fore-mentioned, render  diction  pleasing,  if  usual  and  fo- 
reign words  are  well  mingled  together,  and  likewise 
rythm,  and  that  which  is  calculated  to  persuade  from  the 
decorous.  And  thus  much  concerning  diction,  as  well 
in  common  about  every,  as  in  particular  about  each 
genus. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


It  now  remains  that  we  should  speak  concerning  the 
order  of  diction.  But  there  are  two  parts  of  an  oration ; 
for  it  is  necessary  to  speak  of  the  thing  which  is  the  subn 


CHAP.  xni. 


RHETORIC. 


2.55 


ject  of  discussion,  and  then  to  demonstrate.     Hence,  it 
is  impossible  for  him  who  narrates  a  thing  not  to  de- 
monstrate, or  that  he  should  demonstrate  without  pre- 
vious narration.      For  he   who   demonstrates,   demon- 
strates something,  and  he  who  propounds,  propounds  for 
the  sake  of  demonstrating.     Of  these  [necessary  parts] 
of  an  oration,  however,  the  one  is  the  proposition,   but 
the  other  the  confirmation ;  in  the  same  manner  as  in 
the  sciences,  one  thing  is  a  problem,  but  another  a  de- 
monstration.    But  the  division  which  rhetoricians  now 
make  is  ridiculous.     For  narration  belongs  to  a  forensic 
oration.  But  in  the  demonstrative  and  deliberative  genus, 
how  can  there  be  an  oration  such  as  they  say  there  is, 
or  those  things  which  are  urged  against  the  opponent  ? 
Or  how  can  there  be  a  peroration  of  things  demonstra- 
tive ?    The  proem,   however,   the  comparison,  and  the 
repetition,  then  take  place  in  orations  to  the  people,  when 
there  is  altercation;  (for   in  these  there   is   frequently 
accusation  and  defence  ;)  but  not  so  far  as  there  is  con- 
sultation in  these.     But  neither  does  peroration  belong 
to  every  forensic   oration  ;    for  it  is  not  requisite,  when 
the  oration  is  short,  or  the  thing  can  easily  be  remem- 
bered ;  since  in  this  peroration  it  would  happen  that  some- 
thing would  be  taken  away  from  the  length  of  such  an 
oration.     The  necessary  parts  of  an  oration,   therefore, 
are  proposition  and  proof. 

And  these,  indeed,  are  proper  or  peculiar  parts.  But 
the  most  numerous  parts  of  an  oration  are,  the  proem, 
the  proposition,  proof,  and  peroration.  For  what  is  said 
against  the  opponent,  pertains  to  proof;  and  the  coni- 
parison  is  an  amplification  of  our  arguments,  so  that  it 
is  a  certain  part  of  the  proof;  for  he  demonstrates  some- 


256 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  nr. 


thing  who  does  this.  Neither  the  proem,  however,  nor 
the  peroration  is  a  part  of  the  proof;  but  each  is  sub- 
servient to  recollection.  If,  therefore,  any  one  makes  a 
division  of  things  of  this  kind,  like  the  followers  of  Theo- 
dorus,  narration,  pre-narration,  supernarration,  confuta- 
tion and  superconfutation,  will  be  different  from  each 
other.  ^  It  is  necessary,  however,  that  he  who  speaks  of 
a  certain  species  and  difference  of  a  thing,  should  give 
a  name  to  it;  for  if  not,  it  will  become  vain  and  nuga- 
tory.  And  this  fault  of  needlessly  introducing  new 
names  was  committed  by  Lycimnius  in  his  Art  of  Rhe- 
toric,  when  he  speaks  of  irruption,  aberration,  and  ramifi- 
cation. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 


The  proem,  therefore,  is  the  beginning  of  an  oration  j 
which  in  [dramatic]  poetry  is  the  prologue  ;  and  in  play- 
ing on  the  pipe  the  prelude.  For  all  these  are  princi- 
ples or  beginnings,  and  as  it  were  preparatory  to  what 
follows.  And  the  prelude,  indeed,  is  similar  to  the 
proem  of  the  demonstrative  kind  of  orations.  For  as 
those  that  play  on  the  pipe  connect  the  prelude  with  the 
beginning  of  the  song  ;  thus,  also,  in  demonstrative  ora- 
tions, immediately  after  the  orator  has  mentioned  what 


CHAP.  XIV. 


RHETORIC. 


257 


he  wishes  to  say,  it  is  necessary  to  collect  aptly  with  it 
what  is  to  follow ;  of  which  all  rhetoricians  adduce  as 
an  example,  the  proem  of  Isoc  rates   in  his   oration   in 
praise  of  Helen.     For   Isocrates  begins  his   encomium 
with  blaming  the  sophists,  which  has  nothing  in  common 
with  the  praise  of  Helen  ;  and  yet  because  he  has  aptly 
conjoined  it  with  the  argument,  he  has  obtained  praise. 
But  the  proems  of  demonstrative  orations  are  derived 
from  praise  or  blame ;  as  in  the  proem  of  Gorgias  to  his 
Olympiac  oration,    "  O  Greeks,  this  is  a  thing  worthy 
of  general  admiration.'*     For  he  praises  those  who  in- 
stituted the  public  spectacles.     Isocrates  on  the  contrary 
blames   them,   "  Because   they   honoured  indeed    with 
gifts  the  virtues  of  the  body  ;  but  appointed  no  reward 
for  wise  men."     The  proems  also  of  demonstrative  ora- 
tions are  derived  from    counsel  and   advice,    such  for 
instance  as,  "  That  it  is  requisite  to  honour  good  men  ; 
on  which  account  he  [the  orator]   has   undertaken  to 
praise  Aristides."     Or  [as  he  who  wrote  an  oration  in 
praise  of  Paris;]  for  he  says  "  That  it  is  neither  requi- 
site to  praise  those  who  are  celebrated,  nor  those  who 
are  of  no  account,  but  those  who  are  good,  and  at  the 
same  time  obscure  men,  such  as  was  Paris  the  son   of 
Priam."     For  he  [who  thus  begins  his  oration]  is  one 
that  gives  counsel.     Farther  still,  the  proems  of  demon- 
strative orations  are  derived  from  forensic  proems  ;  but 
this  is  from  things  pertaining  to  the  hearer,  if  the  oration 
is    concerning   something   paradoxical,  or  difBcult,  or 
much  celebrated,  so  as  to  require  pardon  from  the  audi- 
tors ;  such  for  instance  as  the  proem  of  Choerilus,  "  But 
now  since  all  things  are  divulged."     The  proems,  there- 
fore, of  demonstrative  orations  are  derived  from  these 
things ;  viz.  from  praise  and  blame ;  from  exhortation 
ArisL  VOL.  i.  R 


giSftt^.^.,,j»Ji«a«ife.«Mi<»ia«gaa»*j!^^  -.^b 


258 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  III. 


and  dissuasion,  and  from  those  things  which  are  refer- 
red to  the  hearer.  It  is  necessary,  however,  that  the 
proems  should  either  be  foreign,  or  appropriate  to  the 


oration. 


With  respect  to  proems  of  the  forensic  kind,  it  is  ne- 
cessary to  assume,  that  they  are  able  to  effect  the  same 
thing  as  the  prologues  of  dramatic,  and  the  proems  of 
epic  poems.  For  dithyrambic  proems  are  similar  to  those 
of  the  demonstrative  kind ;  as,  •'  On  account  of  thee,  and 
thy  gifts  or  spoils."  But  in  dramatic  and  epic  poems, 
the  prosms  are  a  specimen  of  what  is  to  follow,  that  the 
reader  may  foresee  what  the  subject  of  them  is,  and  that 
his  mind  may  not  be  kept  in  suspense.  For  that  which 
is  indefinite  causes  the  mind  to  wander.  The  poet, 
therefore,  who  delivers  into  the  hands  of  the  reader  the 
beginning  of  his  poem,  makes  him  follow  with  attention 
the  rest  of  it.     Hence,  Homer, 


And, 


The  ivratk  of  Peleus*  son,  O  goddess,  sing. 


The  man  for  ivisdom^s  various  arts  renown'd, 
Long  exercis'd  in  woes,  O  Muse,  resound. 


And  another  poet. 

Again,  O  Muse,  inspire  my  verse,  and  sing 
H(y(ii  from  the  Asian  land  a  mightt/  tvar 
Spread  over  Europe. 

Tragic  poets  also  indicate  respecting  the  drama,  though 
not  immediately,  as  Euripides  does,  yet  they  indicate 
what  it  is  in  the  prologue,  as  Sophocles  [in  the  OEdipus,] 

Polybius  was  my  father. 


CHAP.  XIV. 


RHETORIC. 


259 


And  after  the  same  manner  Comic  poets.  The  most 
necessary  and  proper  office,  therefore,  of  a  proem  is  this, 
to  unfold  the  end  for  the  sake  of  which  the  oration  was 
composed  ;  on  which  account,  if  the  end  is  manifest, 
and  the  subject  matter  is  trifling,  the  proem  must  be 
omitted.  Other  species  of  proems,  however,  which  are 
used  by  orators,  are  remedies,  and  things  of  a  common 
nature.  And  these  are  derived  from  the  speaker  and 
the  hearer,  from  the  subject  matter,  and  from  the  oppo- 
nent. From  the  orator,  therefore,  and  the  opponent, 
those  proems  are  derived  which  pertain  to  the  dissolving 
or  making  an  accusation.  But  these  must  not  be  simi- 
larly employed  [by  the  plaintiff  and  defendant]]-  For 
by  the  defendant,  what  peVtains  to  accusation  must  be 
introduced  in  the  beginning,  but  by  the  plaintiff  at  the 
end,  of  the  oration.  But  for  what  reason,  it  is  not  im- 
manifest.  For  it  is  necessary  that  the  defendant,  when 
he  is  about  to  introduce  himself,  should  remove  all  im- 
pediments, so  that  he  must  dissolve  the  accusation  at  the 
beginning  of  his  speech ;  but  the  opponent  should  be 
criminated  by  the  plaintiff  at  the  end,  in  order  that  the 
hearers  may  remember  the  better.  What,  however, 
pertains  to  the  auditor  consists  in  rendering  him  bene- 
volent to  the  orator,  and  enraged  with  the  opponent. 
Sometimes,  also,  it  is  advantageous  to  the  cause,  that  the 
auditor  should  be  attentive,  and  sometimes  that  he  should 
not ;  for  it  is  not  always  beneficial  to  render  him  atten- 
tive. Hence,  many  orators  endeavour  to  excite  laughter 
in  their  hearers.  A  summary  account  of  a  thing  also 
contributes  to  celerity  of  apprehension ;  and  this  is  like- 
wise effected  by  the  or^itor's  appearing  to  be  a  worthy 
jnan.  For  the  audience  are  more  attentive  to  men  of 
this  description.     But  they  are  attentive  to  great  things^ 


260 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  III, 


to  things  pertaining  to  themselves,  to  admirable,  and  to 
delightful  things.  Hence,  it  is  necessary  to  inform  the 
audience  that  the  oration  will  be  concerning  things  of 
this  kind.  On  the  contrary,  if  the  orator  wishes  the 
audience  not  to  be  attentive  to  the  cause,  he  must  say 
that  the  subject  matter  is  a  thing  of  small  consequence, 
that  it  does  not  pertain  to  them,  and  that  it  is  a  trouble- 
some affair.  It  is  necessary,  however,  not  to  be  ignorant 
that  all  such  things  are  foreign  to  the  oration ;  for  they 
pertain  to  a  depraved  hearer,  and  to  one  who  attends  to 
what  is  foreign  to  the  purpose.  For  if  he  were  not  a 
person  of  this  description,  there  would  be  no  occasion  for 
a  proem,  except  so  far  as  it  is  requisite  to  give  a  summary 
account  of  the  affair,  in  order  that  the  oration,  as  a  body, 
may  have  a  head.  Farther  still,  to  render  the  audience 
attentive,  if  it  should  be  requisite,  is  common  to  all  the 
parts  of  an  oration  ;  because  universally  the  audience  are 
less  attentive  to  what  is  said  in  the  progress,  than  in  the 
beginning  of  the  oration.  Hence  it  is  ridiculous  to  endea- 
vour to  procure  attention  in  the  beginning  of  the  oration, 
because  then  all  the  hearers  are  especially  attentive. 
Hence,  attention  is  to  be  procured  wherever  occasion 
offers ;  [by  saying,  for  instance]  "  Give  me  your  atten- 
tion ;  for  this  business  is  not  more  mine  than  yours.*" 
And,  "  I  will  relate  to  you  a  transaction  of  such  a  nature, 
that  you  have  never  heard  of  any  thing  so  dreadful,  or 
so  admirable.**  But  this  is,  as  Prodicus  says,  when  the 
audience  are  drowsy,  to  promise  to  say  something  to 
them  from  his  demonstration,  estimated  at  fifty  drachms. « 
It  is  evident,  however,  that  the  proem  is  referred  to  the 

*  Prodicus  boasted  that  he  had  a  demonstration  which  would 
render  those  who  used  it  victorious  in  all  causes,  and  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  teach  it  for  fifty  drachms. 


CHAP.  XIV. 


RHETORIC. 


261 


auditor,  not  so  far  as  he  is  an  auditor ;  for  all  orators 
in  the  proems  either  criminate,  or  dissolve  fear ;  as  [from 
the  Antigone  of  Sophocles,]  "  I  will  tell,  O  king,  though 
it  was  not  my  intention  to  have  come  hither  as  a  messen- 
ger,"  And  [from  the  Iphigenia  in  Tauris  of  Euripides,] 
**  Why  do  you  preface  ?"  A  proem  also  is  necessary 
when  the  cause  is  bad,  or  appears  to  be  bad  ;  for  in  this 
case  it  is  better  to  discuss  any  thing  else  than  to  dwell 
upon  the  cause.  Hence,  servants  do  not  [directly]  reply 
to  the  question  they  are  asked,  but  their  answer  is  cir- 
cuitous and  prefatory.  But  we  have  shown  whence  it  is 
requisite  to  render  the  audience  benevolent,  and  have 
explained  every  thing  else  of  this  kind.  Since,  however, 
it  is  well  said  [by  Ulysses  to  Minerva,  in  Odyss.  14,3 
**  Give  me  as  a  friend,  and  a  man  to  be  pitied,  to  reach 
Phceacia's  land,"  it  is  necessary  to  pay  attention  to  these 
two  things. '  But  in  proems  of  the  demonstrative  kind. 
It  is  necessary  to  make  the  auditor  fancy,  that  either  him- 
self, or  his  race,  or  his  pursuits,  or  something  else  be- 
longing to  him,  is  praised  together  with  the  person  who 
IS  the  subject  of  the  oration.  For  what  Socrates  says  in 
the  Menexemus  of  Plato,  is  true,  "  That  it  is  not  difficult 
to  praise  the  Athenians  among  the  Athenians,  but  among 
the  Lacedaemonians."  But  the  proems  of  popular  ora- 
tions are  derived  from  those  of  the  forensic  kind ;  for 
these  have  not  naturally  any  themselves ;  since  the 
audience  are  well  acquainted  with  the  subject.  And  the 
thing  itself  is  not  in  want  of  any  proem,  but  a  proem  is 
here  requisite  either  on  account  of  the  orator  or  the 
opponents,  or  if  the  audience  should  not  think  the  affair 


'  viz.  That  the  defendant  may  appear  to  be  a  good  man,  and 
to  deserve  commiseration. 


262 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  111. 


of  just  SO  much  consequence  as  it  is,  but  of  greater  or 
less  consequence.  Hence  it  is  necessary  either  to  crimi- 
nate  the  opponent,  or  to  dissolve  the  accusations  against 
him,  and  either  to  amplify  or  diminish  the  affair.  But 
for  the  sake  of  these  things  a  proem  is  requisite.  Or  a 
proem  is  necessary  for  the  sake  of  ornament ;  since 
without  this  the  oration  will  appear  to  be  carelessly  com- 
posed. And  such  is  the  encomium  of  Gorgias  on  the 
Eleans ;  for  without  any  previous  extension  and  graceful 
movement  of  his  arms  [like  the  Athletae  before  they 
engage,]  he  immediately  begins,  '*  Elis,  a  happy  city," 


CHAPTER  XV. 


With  respect,  however,  to  the  dissolution  of  crimes 
objected  by  the  opponent,  one  mode  is  derived  from 
those  things  through  which  the  ill  opinion  of  the  audience 
may  be  removed  ;  for  it  makes  no  difference  whether  this 
opinion  arises  from  what  is  said,  or  not;  so  that  this  mode 
is  universal.  Another  mode  consists  in  obviating  such 
particulars  as  are  dubious,  either  by  showing  that  the 
thing  which  is  the  subject  of  doubt  does  not  exist,  or  that 
it  IS  not  noxious,  or  that  it  is  not  noxious  to  this  person, 
or  that  it  is  not  so  pernicious  [as  the  opponent  contends 
it  to  be,]  or  that  it  is  not  unjust,  or  that  it  is  not  greatly 
80,  or  that  it  is  not  disgraceful,  or  that  it  is  a  thing  of 
small  consequence.     For  things  of  this  kind  are  the  sub- 


CHAP.  XV. 


RHETORIC. 


263 


jects  of  contention.  And  ftiis  mode  was  adopted  by 
Iphicrates  against  Nausicrates.  For  he  confessed  that 
he  did  what  he  was  accused  by  Nausicrates  of  having 
done,  and  that  he  did  harm  to  the  person,  but  did  not 
act  unjustly.  Or  he  that  has  injured  another,  may  say 
that  he  has  made  him  a  compensation  ;  so  that  if  what 
he  did  was  noxious,  yet  it  was  beautifully  done  ;  if  pain- 
ful, yet  it  was  beneficial ;  or  something  else  of  the  like 
kind  may  be  said.  Another  mode  consists  in  showing 
that  the  deed  [which  is  objected  to  as  a  crime]  was  an 
error,  or  happened  from  misfortune,  or  from  necessity. 
Thus  Sophocles  said,  "  That  he  trembled,  not,  as  his 
accuser  said,  that  he  might  seem  to  be  an  old  man,  but 
from  necessity  ;  for  he  was  not  willingly  eighty  years  of 
age."  An  excuse  also  may  be  made  by  asserting  that 
the  deed  was  not  done  with  a  view  to  that  end  it  is  said 
to  have  been  done  by  the  opponent.  Thus  he  who  is 
accused  of  having  injured  another  person  may  say,  '*  That 
it  was  not  his  intention  to  injure  him,  but  that  the  injury 
was  accidental.  And  that  it  wo^ld  be  just  to  hate  him, 
if  the  injury  had  been  done  by  him  voluntarily.  Another 
mode  consists  in  considering  whether  the  opponent  him- 
self, or  some  of  his  kindred,  have  now,  or  formerly,  been 
involved  in  the  crime  which  he  objects  to  the  defendant. 
Another  mode  consists  in  showing  that  those  also  are  in- 
volved in  the  crime,  whom  the  opponent  confesses  not 
to  be  obnoxious  to  the  accusation ;  as,  if  the  opponent 
should  confess  that  this  man,  though  he  is  an  adulterer, 
is  pure  in  his  conduct,  then  this  and  this  man  also  will 
be  pure.  Another  mode  consists  in  showing  that  if  the 
opponent  has  accused  others  falsely  before,  it  is  probable 
that  he  now  falsely  accuses  the  defendant.  Or  if  it  is 
shown  that  those  who  are  now  accused,  have  been  at 


264 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  III, 


another  time  falsely  accused  ;  for  then  it  is  probable  that 
now  also  they  are  falsely  accused.  In  order,  likewise, 
to  remove  a  bad  opinion,  it  may  be  said,  that  the  same 
persons,  who  at  another  time  have  been  suspected  of  a 
crime,  though  no  one  has  accused  them,  have  been  found 
to  be  innocent.  Another  mode  consists  in  reciprocally 
criminating  the  accuser  ;  for  if  the  accuser  is  unworthy 
of  belief,  it  is  absurd  that  his  assertions  should  be  credi- 
ble. Another  mode  consists  in  showing  that  the  present 
cause  has  been  decided  before ;  as  Euripides  does  in  the 
action  against  Hygiaenontes,  which  is  called  a?itiJosis, 
who  accused  him  as  an  impious  person.  For  when  he 
objected  to  Euripides,  that  in  that  verse  of  his, 

The  tongue  has  sworn,  but  unsworn  is  the  mind, 

he  persuaded  men  to  perjure  themselves,  Euripides  re- 
plied, "  That  his  accuser  acted  unjustly,  in  bringing  de- 
cisions  into  a  court  of  justice,  which  had  formerly  been 
made  in  the  contest  pertaining  to  Bacchus ;  for  in  that 
tribunal,  he  had  defended  the  verse,  and  would  again 
defend  it,  if  he  was  willing  to  accuse  him  in  that  place." 
Another  mode  consists  in  reprobating  false  accusations, 
and  in  showing  how  great  an  evil  calumny  is,  and  that 
It  is  also  attended  with  the  evil  of  producing  other  judi- 
cial  processes. 

The  place,  however,  which  is  derived  from  symbols, 
IS  common  to  both  [i.  e.  to  him  who  accuses,  and  to  the 
crimination.]  Thus  Ulysses  [in  the  tragedy  called 
Teucer,]  «  accuses  Teucer  [as  the  friend  of  the  Trojans,] 
because  he  was  allied  to  Priam."  For  Hesione  [the 
mother  of  TeucerJ  was  the  sister  of  Priam.      But 


CHAP.  XV. 


RHIiTORIC. 


265 


Teucer  replied,  "  That  his  father  Telamon  was  an  enemy 
to  Priam ;  and  that  he  (Teucer)  did  not  discover  to  the 
Trojans  the  spies  which  the   Greeks  sent   to   Troy." 
Another  place  pertains  to  the  accuser,  and  consists  in 
praising  in  a  small  degree,  in  order  to  blame  afterwards 
more  copiously  ;  and  if  the  opponent  has  performed  any 
great  deed,  to  mention  it  concisely ;  or  having  enume- 
rated many  of  his  good  deeds,  [which  do  not  pertain  to 
the  cause,]  to  blame  one  of  his  actions,  which  does  per- 
tain  to  it.     But  accusers  of  this  kind  are  most  artificial 
and  unjust ;  for  they  endeavour  to  injure  by  good  deeds, 
mingling  them  with  one  evil  deed.     It  is  common,  how- 
ever, to  the  accuser,  and  to  him  who  dissolves  the  crime, 
since  it  is  possible  that  the  same  thing  may  have  been 
done  for  the  sake  of  many  things, — it  is  common  to  the 
accuser  indeed,  to  represent  the  affair  in  the  worst,  but 
to  him  who  dissolves  the  crime,  to  represent  it  in  the 
best   point   of  view.      Thus  it   may   be   said,   "That 
Diomed  preferred  Ulysses  [as  his  associate  in  the  night 
adventure  in  Iliad  10,]  because  he  thought  Ulysses  to 
be  the  best  of  the  Greeks."     Or  it  may  be  said,  "  That 
he  did  hot  prefer  him  for  this  reason,  but  because  he  alone 
was  not  his  antagonist,  as  being  a  man  of  no  conse- 
quence."     And  thus  much  concerning  accusation. 


266 


THE    ART    OF 


BOOK  III, 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

But  narration  in  demonstrative  orations,  is  not  con- 
tinued,  but  distinguished  into  parts.     For  it  is  necessary 
[in  demonstrative  orations]   to  enumerate  those  actions, 
from  which  the  oration  is  composed.     For  an  oration  of 
this  kind  is  composed,  so  as  to  be  partly  inartificial  (since 
the  orator  is  not  the  cause  of  any  of  the  actions,)  and 
partly  artificial.     This,   however,  consists   in   showing, 
either  that  the  thing  is,  if  it  is  incredible,  or  what  the 
quality,  or  quantity  of  it  is,  or  in  exhibiting  all  these. 
On  this  account,  sometimes  it  is  not  requisite  to  narrate 
every  thing,  because  thus  to  demonstrate  is  adverse  to 
facility  of  remembrance.     [Thus,  for  instance,  it  may 
be  said,]  "  That  from  these  things  it  appears  that  he  is 
a  brave  man  ;  but  from  those,  a  wise,  or  just  man.'* 
And  the  one  oration  is  more  simple,   [i.  e.  the  oration 
in  which  every  thing  is  narrated  in  a  continued  series 
without  any  confirmation  and  amplification  ;]  but  the 
other  [in  which  there  is  confirmation  and  amplification,] 
is  various  and  not  elaborate.     It  is  necessary,  however, 
to  call  to  mind  things  and  persons  known  and  celebrat- 
ed ;  on   which  account  the  greater  part  of  celebrated 
persons  and  things  do  not  require  narration ;  as  if,  for 
instance,  you  should  be  willing  to  praise  Achilles ;  for 
all  men  are  acquainted  with  his  actions  j  but  it  is  requi- 


aaSiKujt'a'tayay*—  ■-•&v;iy-jM'«.y3fij 


Ifct^^^JKiaaC  afegs  J 


CHAP.  XVL 


RHETORIC. 


9fe7 


site  to  make  use  of  these  actions.  But  if  you  were 
willing  to  praise  Critias,  narration  is  necessary ;  for  he  is 
not  known  by  many  persons, 

At  present,  however,  rhetoricians  ridiculously  say  fnat 
narration  should  be  rapid  ;  though  what  a  certain  person 
said  in  reply  to  a  baker,  who  asked,  **  whether  he  wished 
that  he  should  make  soft  or  hard  bread,"  may  be  applied 
to  these.     For  his  answer  was,  "  Is  it  not  possible  to 
make  good  bread,  so  that  it  may  be  neither  hard  nor 
soft,  but  of  a  moderate  <:ondition  r^     For  it  is  requisite 
neither  to  make  a  long  narration,  as  neither  is  it  neces- 
sary to  make  a  long  exordium,  nor  to  dwell  on  the  credi- 
bility  of  what  is   narrated ;    since  here  also   propriety 
consists  neither  in  rapidity,  nor  conciseness,  but  in  medio- 
crity.     But  this  is  effected  by  narrating  such  things  as 
render  the  affair  manifest ;  or  such  things  as  induce  the 
audience  to  believe  that  the  thing  has  been  done,  or  that 
the  person  has  been  hurt,  or  the  injury  has  been  com- 
mitted,  or  that  the  transactions  were  of  that  magnitude 
which  the  orator  wishes  the  hearers  to  believe  they  were. 
Things,   however,  of  a  nature  contrary  to  these  are  to 
be  adduced  by  the  opponent.     The   orator,    likewise, 
should  insert  in  his  narration  such  things  as  pertain  to 
his  own  virtue ;  such^s,  «  But  I  always  admonished  him 
to  act  justly,  and  not  to  desert  his  children.'*'     Or  he 
should  insert  in  his  narration  such  things  as  pertain  to 
the  depravity  of  another  person ;  [as  in  the  above  in- 
stance.]     "  But  he  answered  me,  that  wherever  he  was 
he  should  have  other  children,"  which  Herodotus  [in 


'  This  is  supposed  to  be  said  by  an  orator  against  some  one  who 
had  deserted  his  children. 


2G5 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  III. 


Euterpe]  says,  was  the  answer  of  the  Egyptians,  when 
they  revolted  from  their  king.    Or  he  should  insert  such 
things  as  are  pleasing  to  the  judges.     To  the  defendant, 
however,  narration  is  less  necessary  ;  but  the  subjects  of 
controversies  are,  whether  a  thing  has  been  done  or  not, 
whether  it  is  detrimental  or  not,  whether  it  is  unjust  or 
not,  and  whether  it  is  a  thing  of  so  much  consequence 
or  not.     Hence,   the  defendant  must  not  dwell  upon  a 
thing  that  is  acknowledged,  unless  something  is  said  in 
opposition  to  his  statement  of  the  affair.     For  then  he 
must  show,  that  admitting  the  thing  to  have  been  done, 
yet  it  was  not  unjust.     Farther  still,   it  is  necessary  tJ 
narrate  things  which  have  not  been  done,  as  if  rhey  had 
been  done,  if  they  are  calculated  to  produce  commisera- 
tlon  or  indignation.     Examples  of  this  are,  the  fabulous 
narration  of  Ulysses  to  Alcinous,  and  again  to  Penelope, 
which  is  effected  in  thirty  verses.     Another  example  is 
that  of  Phayilus,   [who  contracted  a  very  long   poem 
which  was  called]  the  circle,  and  also  the  prologue  of 
Euripides  in  his  CEneus.     But  it  is  necessary  that  the 
narration  should  be  ethical ;  and  this  will  be  effected,  if 
we  know  what  produces  manners.     One  thing,  there- 
fore, which  produces  them  is,  a  manifestation  of  delibe- 
rate  choice;  and  manners  are  good  or  bad  from  the 
quality  which  they  possess.    But  deliberate  choice  is  such 
as  it  is  from  the  end.     On  this  account  mathematical 
discussions  are  not  ethical,  because  they  do  not  contain 
m  themselves  deliberate  choice ;  for  they  have  not  that 
for  the  sake  of  which  a  thing  is  done  [i.  e.  they  do  not 
consider  the  end  ;]  but  this  is  the  business  of  Socratic 
discussions ;  for  these  consider  things  of  this  kind.    The 
oration   also   expresses   manners,   which   exhibits   such 
things  as  are  consequent  to  manners ;  such  as,  *«  That 


CHAP.  XVI. 


RHETORIC. 


269 


at  the  same  time  he  said  these  things,  he  went  away  ;'* 
for  this  manifests  audacity,   and  rusticity   of  manners. 
The  oration  likewise  is  rendered  ethical  by  not  speaking 
as  if  from  a  syllogistic  process,  like  rhetoricians  of  the 
present  day,  but  as  if  from  deliberate  intention ;  as,  "  I 
have   wished,"  and,  "  For  this  was  the  object  of  my 
deliberate  choice ;  since,  though  I  should  desire  no  emo- 
lument from  it,  it  is  a  better  thing.''     For  the  one  p.  e. 
to  speak  as  if  from  a  syllogistic  process]  is  the  province 
of  a  prudent  man ;  but  the  other,  [i.  e.  to  speak  from 
deliberate  intention,]  is  the  province  of  a  good  man. 
For  it  belongs  to  a  prudent  man  to  pursue  what  is  bene- 
ficial, but  to  a  good  man  to  pursue  what  is  beautiful  in 
conduct.     If,  however,  what  you  narrate  is  incredible, 
then  the  cause  is  to  be  explained  ;  an  example  of  which 
is  from  the  Antigone  of  Sophocles,  "  That  she  wzs  more 
anxiously  concerned  for  her  brother,  than  for  her  hus- 
band or  children  ;  for  she  might  repair  the  loss  of  her 
husband  and  children  [by  marrying  again;]  but  her 
mother  and  father  having  descended  to  Hades,  she  could 
never  have  another  brother."     But  if  you  cannot  assign 
the  cause,  you  may  say,  "  That  you  are  not  ignorant 
you  relate  what  is  incredible,  but  that  you  are  naturally 
disposed  not  to  admit  any  thing  disgraceful."     For  man- 
kind  do  not  believe  that  any  action  is  performed  willingly, 
except   it  is  advantageous.     Again,  that  the  narration 
may  be  ethical,  it  is  requisite  that  it  should  be  pathetic  j 
and  this  is  effected  by  relating  such  things  as  are  conse- 
quent  to  the  passions,  which  are  known  to  the  audience, 
and  which  particularly  relate  either  to  the  orator,  or  his 
opponent;  as,  *'But  he  departed  looking  after  me;*' 
and  as  iEschines  says  of  Cratylus,  "  That  he  hissed, 
and  clapped    with   his  hands."    For  these  things  are 


\ 


270 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  III. 


adapted  to  persuade;  because  these  things  which  the 
audience  know,  are  symbols  of  what  they  do  not  know. ' 
Many  things  also  of  this  kind  may  be  assumed  from 
Homer;  as  [in  Odyss.  19.] 

Then  o'er  her  face  the  beldam  spread  her  hands. 

For  those  who  begin  to  weep,  cover  their  eyes  with  their 
hands.  In  the  beginning  of  the  oration,  likewise,  you 
should  introduce  yourself  as  a  worthy,  [and  your  oppo- 
nent  as  an  unworthy]  man,  that  the  audience  may  survey 
you  and  your  opponent  as  such.  But  this  should  be  done 
latently.  And  that  this  may  be  easily  accomplished  may 
be  seen  from  those  who  announce  any  thing  to  us ;  for 
concerning  things  of  which  we  know  nothing,  we  at  the 
same  time  form  a  certain  opinion  [of  their  truth  or  false- 
hood.]  In  many  places,  however,  it  is  necessary  to  nar- 
rate,  and  sometimes  not  in  the  beginning  of  the  oration. 

But  in  a  popular  oration,  there  is  no  need  of  narration, 
because  no  one  makes  a  narration  of  future  events.  If 
however,  there  should  happen  to  be  a  narration  in  it,  it 
will  be  of  past  events,  in  order  that  by  recalling  th'em 
into  the  memory,  there  may  be  a  better  consultation 
about  such  as  are  future,  either  employing  on  this  occa- 
sion  accusation  or  praise  ;  but  then  he  who  does  this,  will 
not  perform  the  office  of  a  counsellor.  If,  however,  that 
which  is  narrated  is  incredible,  then  you  ought  to'  pro- 

'I 

■  For  since  the  audience  know  that  it  is  the  province  of  an  im- 
pudent man  to  hiss  and  clap  with  his  hands,  the  orator  by  narrating 
thftse  things  persuades  them  that  he  who  thus  acted  was  an  impu- 
dent man,  of  which  perhaps  they  were  ignorant. 


CHAP.  XVII. 


RHETORIC. 


271 


mise  the  audience,  that  you  will  immediately  assign  the 
cause  of  it,  and  leave  it  to  the  audience  to  believe  or  not, 
as  riiey  please.  Thus  locasta  in  the  CEdipus,  of  Carci- 
nus,  when  she  says  something  incredible  in  answer  to 
him  who  asks  her  concerning  his  son,  always  promises 
[that  she  would  prove  the  truth  of  what  she  had  said.] 
And  the  -^mon  of  Sophocles  [employs  the  same  art.] 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


It  is  necessary,  however,  that  credibility  should  be 
demonstrative.  But  it  is  requisite  to  demonstrate  (since 
controversy  is  respecting  four  things)  by  adducing  a 
demonstration  of  the  controverted  subject.  Thus  for 
instance,  if  it  is  controverted  whether  a  thing  has  been 
done,  it  is  especially  necessary  in  a  judicial  process  to 
give  a  demonstration  of  this ;  or  if  it  is  controverted  whe- 
ther this  man  has  been  injured,  or  whether  he  has  been 
injured  to  the  extent  alleged,  or  whether  justly  or  not. 
And  in  a  similar  manner  of  the  existence  of  the  thing 
controverted.  Nor  must  we  be  ignorant  that  in  this  con- 
troversy alone,  one  of  the  persons  must  necessarily  be  de- 
praved ;  for  here  ignorance  is  not  the  cause,  as  if  certain 
persons  were  disputing  about  justice ;  so  that  this  contro- 
versy but  not  others  must  be  diligently  discussed.      But 


272 


THE  ART  OF 


BOOK  in. 


in  demonstrative  orations  the  amplification  will  for  the 
most  part  consist  in  showing  that  actions  have  been  beau- 
tiful and  beneficial  ;  for  it  is  necessary  to  believe  in  facts. 
For  demonstrations  are  seldom  given  of  these  things  un- 
less they  are  incredible,  or  another  person  is  supposed  to 
be  the  cause  of  them.  In  popular  orations,  however,  it 
may  be  contended  that  a  thing  will  not  be ;  or  that  what 
is  advised  will  take  place,  but  that  it  is  not  just ;  or  that 
it  is  not  beneficial,  or  that  it  is  not  of  such  great  conse- 
quence. It  is  likewise  necessary  to  see  whether  the  oppo- 
nent has  asserted  any  thing  false,  which  does  not  pertain 
to  the  cause ;  since  from  this,  as  from  a  sign,  it  may  be 
infei-red  that  he  has  also  spoken  falsely  in  other  things. 

Examples,  however,  are  indeed  most  adapted  to  popular 
orations ;  but  enthymemes  to  judicial  orations.  For  the 
former  are  conversant  with  the  future ;  so  that  examples 
must  necessarily  be  derived  from  past  events.  But  judi- 
cial orations  are  conversant  with  things  which  exist,  or  do 
not  exist,  in  which  there  is  in  a  greater  degree  demon- 
stration and  necessity.  For  that  which  has  been  done  is 
attended  with  necessity.  Enthymemes,  however,  must 
not  be  adduced  in  a  continued  series,  but  must  be  mingled 
[with  other  things  more  pleasant  and  easy ;]  since  if  this 
is  not  done,  they  will  be  detrimental  to  each  other ;  for 
there  is  a  boundary  of  quantity.  [Hence,  in  Homer,  in 
Odyss.  4.,  Menelaus  praises  Pisistratus,  the  son  of  Nestor, 
for  the  mediocrity  of  his  speech.]  *^  Dear  youth,  you 
have  said  just  as  much  as  a  wise  man  would  have  said." 
For  he  does  not  praise  him  that  he  said  such  things,  but 
so  much  and  no  more.  Nor  must  enthymemes  be  investi- 
gated  in  every  subject ;  fo^if  this  [precept]  is  not  observed, 
you  will  do  that  which  some  of  those  who  philosophise 


CHAP.  XVII.* 


RHETORIC. 


273 


do,  who  syllogistically  collect  things  more  known  and 
credible,  than  the  propositions  from  which  they  are  de- 
duced.   When,  likewise,  you  wish  to  excite  the  passions, 
do  not  introduce  an  enthymeme  [i.  e.  abstain  from  argu- 
ment ;]  for  the  enthymeme  will  either  expel  the  passion, 
or  will  be  introduced  in  vain.     For  motions  which  exist 
at  pne  and  the  same  time  expel  each  other,  and  either 
destroy  themselves,  or  become  imbecile.     Nor  when  the 
oration  is  ethical  is  it  proper  at  the  same  time  to  search 
for  any  enthymeme ;  for  demonstration  has  neither  the 
power  of  expressing  manners,  nor  deliberate  choice.  Sen- 
tences, however,  must  be  used  both  in  narration  and  con- 
firmation ;  for  they  are  ethical ;  as,  "  And  I  indeed  en- 
trusted him  with  this,  though  I  knew  that  it  was  not  pro- 
per to  believe  in  any  man."     But  if  you  wish  to  speak 
pathetically,  you  may  say,  "  And  I  do  not  repent  though 
I  have  been  injured ;  for  gain  is  with  him,  but  justice 
with  me."    It  is  not  without  reason,  however,  that  popu- 
lar orations  are  more  difficult  than  such  as  are  judicial ; 
because  they  are  conversant  with  the  future ;  but  the 
judicial  are  conversant  with  the  past,  which  is  scientifi- 
cally known  to  diviners,  as  Epimenides  the  Cretan  said. 
For  he  did  not  predict  about  future  events,  but  about 
such  past  events  as  were  immanifest.     And  the  law  is  an 
hypothesis  in  judicial  orations ;  but  he  who  possesses  the 
principle,  can  more  easily  discover  the  demonstration. 
Popular  orations,  likewise,  have  not  many  digressions ; 
such  for  instance  as,  a  digression  to  the  opponent,  either 
respecting  himself,  or  which  may  produce  the  pathetic ; 
but  such  orations  admit  these,  the  least  of  all  things, 
unless  they  depart  from  their  proper  employment.     It  is 
requisite,  therefore,  that  he  should  digress,  who  is  in 
want  of  arguments }  and  this  method  is  adopted  by  the 


ArisU 


VOL.  I. 


274 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  III. 


Athenian  rhetoricians,  and  also  by  Isocrates.  For  giving 
counsel  he  accuses  the  Lacedaemonians,  in  his  Panegy- 
ric; but  in  his  oration  concerning  Peace,  he  accuses 
Chares.  In  demonstrative  orations,  however,  it  is  requi- 
site to  insert  praise  as  an  episode,  as  Isocrates  does  ;  for 
he  always  introduces  something  which  he  may  praise. 
And  Gorgias  employed  the  same  art,  who  said,  "  That 
he  should  never  be  in  want  of  an  oration."  For  if  he 
speaks  of  Achilles,  he  praises  Peleus,  afterwards  iEacus, 
and  afterwards  the  God  [i.  e.  Jupiter,  the  great-grandfa- 
ther of  Achilles.]  In  a  similar  manner  he  praises  the 
fortitude  of  Achilles.  He,  therefore,  who  has  demon- 
strations, may  speak  both  ethically  and  demonstratively. 
But  if  you  have  not  enthymemes,  you  may  speak  ethi- 
cally. And  it  is  more  adapted  to  a  worthy  man  that  he 
should  appear  to  be  a  good  man,  than  that  he  should 
deliver  an  accurate  oration.  Of  enthymemes,  however, 
those  which  are  adapted  to  confutation  are  more  ap- 
proved, than  those  which  are  demonstrative;  because 
such  things  as  produce  confutation  are  evidently  more 
syllogistic ;  for  contraries  when  placed  by  each  other 
become  more  known. 


Arguments,  however,  which  are  employed  against  the 
opponent  are  not  specifically  different  [from  those  which 
we  employ  in  our  own  defence  ;]  but  it  pertams  to  credi- 
bility,  to  dissolve  some  things  by  objection,  and  others 
by  syllogism.  It  is  also  necessary  both  in  consultation 
and  in  a  judicial  process,  that  he  who  first  pleads  his 
cause,  should  in  the  first  place  confirm  his  cause,  but 
afterwards  should  dissolve  or  extenuate  the  arguments 
contrary  to  his  own.  But  if  the  opposing  arguments  are 
many,  these  must  be  first  confuted,  as  Callistratus  did  in 


CHAP.  xvn. 


RHETORIC. 


275 


the  Messeniac  assembly;  for  he  first  refuted  what  his 
adversaries  could  say,  and  then  said  what  conduced  to  his 
own  cause.  He,  however,  who  speaks  in  the  second 
place,  ought  first  to  encounter  the  reasoning  of  his  adver- 
sary, dissolving  it,  and  syllogizing  in  opposition  to  it,  and 
especially  if  the  arguments  of  his  opponent  have  been 
approved.  For  as  the  soul  is  not  favourably  disposed 
towards  those  who  have  been  already  accused  of  crimes, 
after  the  same  manner  neither  does  it  willingly  attend  to 
an  oration,  if  the  opponent  appears  to  have  spoken  well. 
In  order  to  prepare  the  mind  of  the  auditor,  therefore,  to 
hear  an  oration,  it  is  necessary  first  to  show  that  what 
the  opponent  has  said  is  false.  Hence,  the  orator  must 
fight  against  either  all  the  arguments  of  his  opponent,  or 
the  greatest  of  them,  or  those  which  are  most  approved,  or 
those  which  may  be  easily  confuted,  and  thus  render  his 
own  arguments  credible.     [Thus  Hecuba  in  Euripides,] 

Bat  first  the  goddesses  I  will  assist ; 
For  Juno,  &c. 


For  here  Hecuba  first  confutes  what  was  most  infirm. 
And  thus  much  concerning  confirmation. 

But  with  respect  to  manners,  since  for  a  man  to  say 
certain  things  about  himself,  is  either  invidious,  or  is  at- 
tended with  circumlocution  or  contradiction ;  and  to 
speak  of  another  person  is  attended  either  with  slander  or 
rusticity ; — hence,  it  is  necessary  to  introduce  another 
person  speaking,  as  Isocrates  does  in  his  oration  against 
Philip,  and  in  his  Antidosis  ;  and  as  Archilochus 
blames.  For  he  makes  the  father  [Lycambes]  say  con- 
cerning his  daughter,  in  an  Iambic  verse,  *'  There  is  no- 


276 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  III. 


thing  which  may  not  be  expected  to  be  done,  and  no- 
thing which  will  not  be  sworn  to,  through  money."  And 
in  another  Iambic,  the  beginning  of  which  is,  "  I  care 
not  for  the  riches  of  Gyges,"  he  introduces  Charon  the 
artist  speaking.  Thus,  also,  ^mon  [the  son  of  Creon, 
and  the  husband  of  Antigone,]  in  Sophocles,  while  he 
supplicates  liis  father  Creon  for  the  life  of  Antigone, 
commemorates  the  praises  of  Antigone  not  from  his  own 
proper,  but  from  another  person.  It  is  necessary  also  to 
change  enthymemes,  and  sometimes  to  change  them  into 
sentences ;  as,  "  It  is  requisite  that  those  who  are  intel- 
h'gent  should  form  compacts  with  enemies,  when  they 
are  in  prosperity ;  for  thus  they  will  be  attended  with  the 
greatest  advantage."  But  this  is  done  enthymemati- 
cally  as  follows  :  '*  For  if  it  is  then  requisite  to  form 
compacts,  when  they  are  most  useful,  and  replete  with 
the  most  advantageous  conditions,  it  is  also  necessary 
that  they  should  be  made  in  prosperity." 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 


With  respect  to  interrogation,  it  is  then  especially 
seasonable  to  employ  it,  when  something  is  said  by  the 
opponent  of  such  a  nature,  that  by  the  addition  of  one 
interrogation,  an  absurdity  will  ensue.    Thus  Pericles 


CHAP.  XVIII. 


RHETORIC. 


277 


asked  Lampo  concerning  the  mysteries  of  Ceres,  who  was 
called  the  saviour  goddess  ;  but  Lampo  replied,  "  That 
It  was  unlawful  for  one  who  was  uninitiated  to  hear  them 
related.'/      Pericles,  however,  again  asked    him,    "  If 
he  knew  these  mysteries  ?"     And  Lampo  replying  that 
he  did,  "  And  how  is  this  possible,  said   Pericles,  since 
you  are  uninitiated  ?"     In  the  second  place,  it  is  season- 
able to  employ  interrogation,  when  one  of  the  premises 
f  from  which  something  follows  favourable  to  our  cause] 
is  perspicuous,  but  the  other  will  be  evidently  granted  by 
the  opponent ;  for  then  it  is  requisite  to  interrogate  con- 
cerning such  premise,  and  immediately  conclude,  with- 
out interrogating  concerning  the  other  premise,  which  is 
perspicuous.     Thus  Socrates  when  Melitus  accused  him 
of  not  believing  there  were  Gods,  asked  him  whether  he 
thought  there  was  any  such  thing  as  a  daemoniacal  na- 
ture ;    and   when   Melitus   acknowledged   that  he  did, 
Socrates  also  asked  him,  whether  daemons  were  not  ei- 
ther the  sons  of  the  Gods,  or  something  divine.     But 
Melitus  granting  that  they  were.  Is  it  possible,  therefore, 
said  Socrates,  that  any  one  can  believe  that  there  are  sons 
ci  the  Gods,  and  yet  that  there  are  no  Gods  ?  Farther 
still,  interrogation  may  likewise  be  seasonably  employed, 
when  we  wish  to  show  that  the  opponent  contradicts  him- 
self,  or  asserts  something   paradoxical.     In  the   fourth 
place,  it  may  be  opportunely  employed,  when  the  oppo- 
nent can  only  answer  to  what  is   said  sophistically,  by 
asserting  that  a  certain  thing  is  and  is  not,  or  partly  is, 
and  partly  is  not,  or  in  a  certain  respect  is,  and  in  a  cer- 
tain respect  is  not ;  for  the  auditors  are  disturbed  by  such 
answers,  and  are  dubious  as  to  their  meaning.     When, 
however,   none  of  the    above-mentioned  opportunities 
occur,  interrogation  must  not  be  employed  j  for  if  it 


278 


THE    ART   OF 


BOOK  III. 


should  happen  that  the  opponent  answers  properly,  and 
eludes  the  interrogation,  he  who  interrogates  will  appear 
to  be  vanquished.  For  many  questions  must  not  be 
asked  on  account  of  the  imbecility  of  [the  mind  of  J  the 
auditor.  Hence,  it  is  especially  necessary  that  enthy- 
memes  should  be  contracted. 


It  is  likewise  requisite  to  reply  to  ambiguous  questions, 
by  logically  dividing,  and   not  speaking  concisely      But 
to  things  apparently  true,  a  solution  must  immediately  be 
given  with  the  answer,  before   the  opponent  can   add  a 
second  interrogation,  or  syllogize.     For  it  is  not   diffi- 
cult to  foresee  what  he  wishes  to  infer.     This,  however, 
and  the  solutions,  [i.  e.  the  mode  of  avoiding  and  solving 
captious  interrogations,]  will  be .  manifest  to  us  from  the 
Topics.     If  the  question,  also,  of  the  opponent  produces 
a  conclusion  [against  us,]  it  will  be  opportune  in  the  an- 
swer to  assign  the  cause  why  it  does  so.     Thus,  Sopho- 
cles being  asked  by  Pisander,  whether  he  was  of  the  opi- 
nion of  the  other  senators  that  a  dominion  of  forty  per- 
sons  should  be   established  ?   he  replied  that   he  was. 
And  when  he  was  again  asked,    "  Does  not  this  appear 
to  you  to  be  a  base  thing  ?    he  said.   It  does.**     "  Have 
you  therefore,  Pisander  replied,  given  your  assent  to  this 
base  deed  ?'*    "  I  have,   said  Sophocles,  for  no  better 
measure  could  be  adopted."  Thus,  too,  that  Lacon  [who 
had  been  an  Ephorus,  or  senator,]  when  he  was  desired 
to  give  an  account  of  his  conduct  while  he  was  in  admi- 
nistration, was  asked  by  some  one,   "  Whether  his  col- 
leagues appeared  to  him  to  have  been  justly  condemned? 
he  replied    they    did.'*      But    the    other    then    said, 
**  Did  not  you  also  decree  the  same  things  together  with 
them?**    He  acknowledged  that  he  did.    **  Is  it  not 


CHAP.  XIX. 


RHETORIC. 


279 


therefore  just,  the  other  replied,  that  you  also  should  be 
put  to  death  ?'*  "  By  no  means,  said  Lacon.  For  they 
did  these  things,  having  received  money  for  doing  them  y 
but  I  did  not ;  since  my  conduct  was-  the  result  of  my 
own  judgment."  Hence,  neither  is  it  proper  to  interro- 
gate after  the  conclusion,  nor  to  interrogate  concerning 
the  conclusion  itself,  unless  much  truth  is  contained 
in  it. 

With  respect  to  ridicule,  however,  since  it  appears  to 
possess  a  certain  use  in  contests,  and  it  is  necessary,  as 
Gorgias  rightly  said,  that  the  serious  arguments  of  the 
opponent  should  be  dissolved  by  laughter,  and  his  laugh- 
ter by  serious  arguments,  we  have  shown  in  the  Poetic, 
how  many  species  of  ridicule  there  are.  But  of  these 
species,  one  indeed  is  adapted  to  a  liberal  man,  and  ano- 
ther is  not.  The  orator,  therefore,  must  assume  that 
species  of  ridicule,  which  is  adapted  to  the  occasion. 
Irony,  however,  is  more  liberal  than  scurrility.  For  he 
who  employs  irony,  produces  the  ridiculous  for  his  own 
sake;  but  he  who  employs  scurrility,  for  the  sake  of 
another  person. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 


Epilogue,  however,  or  peroration  is  composed  from 
four  things  j  from  that  which  may  cause  the  auditor  to 


280 


THE   ART   OF 


BOOK  III. 


CHAP.  XIX. 


RHETORIC. 


281 


think  well  of  the  orator,  and  ill  of  his  opponent  ^  from 
amplification,  and  extenuation ;  from  that  which  may 
excite  the  passions  of  the  auditor  ;   and  from  recalling  to 
the  memory  [what  has  been  said.]     For  it  is  natural, 
after  demonstration,  for  the  orator  to  show,  that  what 
he  has  asserted  is  true,  and  that  what  his  opponent  has 
said  is  false ;  and  thus  to  praise,  and  blame,  and  con- 
ciliate the  good  opinion  of  the   audience.     But  of  two 
things,  it  is  requisite  that  the  orator  should  direct  his  at- 
tention to  one  of  them,  viz.  either  to  show  that  he  is 
good  to  the  audience,   or  that  he  is  simply  a   worthy 
man  ;  and  that  his  opponent  is  bad  to  the  audience,  or 
that  he  is  simply  a  bad   man.     We  have  shown,  how.* 
ever,  what  the  places  are  from  which  things  of  this  kind 
are  to  be  derived,  viz.  whence  it  may  be  inferred  that 
men  are  worthy  or  depraved.     In  the  next  place,  it  is 
requisite  to  amplify  or  extenuate,  according   to  nature, 
what  has  now  been  demonstrated.     For  it  is  necessary 
that  it  should  be  acknowledged  a  thing  has  been  done, 
if  the  orator  intends  to  speak  of  its  magnitude  ;   for  the 
increase  of  bodies,  is  from  pre-existent  substances.    But 
we  have  already  shown  whence  the  places  of  amplifica- 
tion and  extenuation  are  to  be  derived.      After  these 
things,  however,  since  it  is  evident  what  their  quality  and 
quantity  are,  the  orator  should  excite   the  passions  of 
the  auditor :  but  these  are,  pity  and  indignation  ;  anger 
and  hatred  ;  envy,  emulation  and  contention.     And  we 
have  before  shown  the  places  of  these.     Hence  it  re- 
mains that  in  the  peroration  the  orator  should  recal  into 
the  memory  of  the  audience  what  has  been  before  said. 
But  this  is  to  be  done  in  such  a  way,  as  others  impro- 
perly teach  us  to  do  in  proems ;  for  that  a  thing  may  be 
easily  understood,  they  order  us  to  repeat  it  frequently. 


In  proems,  indeed,  it  is  necessary  to  speak  of  the  thing 
[which  is  the  subject  of  discussion,]  lest  the  audience 
should  be  ignorant  what  that  is  which  is  to  be  decided  ; 
but  here  [in  peroration,]  the  arguments  which  have  been 
employed,  must   be   summarily  repeated.     The  begin- 
ning, however,  of  the  peroration  should  be,  "  That  the 
orator  has  accomplished  what  he  promised  ;"    so  that  he 
must  then  explain  what  those  things  are  of  which  he  has 
spoken,  and  on  what  account  they  were  discussed  by 
him.     But  the  repetition  should  be  made  from  a  com- 
parison of  what  has  been  said  by  the  opponent.     And  it 
is  requisite  to  compare  either  such  things  as  have  been 
said  on  the  same  subject,  both  by  the  orator  and   his 
opponent ;  or  such  things  as  have  not  been  said  by  both 
of  them  on  the  same  subject ;  as,  "  And  he  indeed  said 
this  on  the  subject,  but  I  thatj  and  for  these  reasons." 
Or  the  repetition  should  be  made  from  irony ;  as,  "  For 
he  said  this,  but  I  that;''   and,  '•  What  would  he  have 
done,  if  he  had  shown  that  those  things  were  transacted, 
and  not  these T     Or  from  interrogation;  as,  "  What 
has  not  been  shown  ?'*    Or  thus,  **  What  has  the  oppo- 
nent shown  ?"    Either,  therefore,  the  repetition  must  be 
thus  made,  or  it  must  be  made  from  comparison,  or  the 
orator  must  repeat  in  a  natural  order  what  he  has  said. 
And  again,  if  he  is  so  inclined,   he  may  repeat  what  his 
opponent  has  said.     That  mode  of  diction,  however,  is 
adapted  to  the  conclusion  of  the  oration,  which  is  called 
disjunctive,  in  order  that  it  may  be  an  epilogue,  and  not 
an  oration  ;  such  as,  "  I  have  said,  you  have  heard,  you 
are  masters  of  the  subject,  judge  for  yourselves.'* 


THE 


POETIC 


THE 


P  O  E  T  I  G- 


CHAPTER  I. 


liET  us  speak  concerning  poetry  itself,  and  the  spe- 
cies of  it ;  what  power  each  of  the  species  possesses,  and 
how  fables  must  be  composed,  so  as  to  render  poetry  such 
as  it  ought  to  be  :  farther  still,  let  us  show  of  how  many 
and  what  kind  of  parts  poetry  consists ;  and  in  a  similar 
manner  with  respect  to  such  other  things  as  pertain  to 
this  method,  beginning  for  this  purpose,  conformably  to 
nature,  first  from  such  things  as  ^e  first. 

The  epopee,  therefore,  and  tragic  poetry,  and  besides 
these  comedy,  and  dithyrambic  poetry,  and  the  greatest 
part  of  the  art  pertaining  to  the  flute  and  the  lyre,  all 
these  are  entirely  imitations.  They  diflfer,  however, 
from  each  other  in  three  things  ;  for  they  differ  either 
by  imitating  through  instruments  generically  different,  or 
by  imitating. different  things,  orbyimiuting  in  a  diffe- 
rent, and  not  after  the  same  manner.  For  as  certain  per- 
sons asamilating,  imitate  many  thmgs  by  colours  and 
figures,  some  indeed  through  art,  but  others  through 


286 


THE    POETIC. 


CHAP.  1. 


custom,  and  others  through  voice ;  thus  also  in  the  above- 
mentioned  arts,  all  of  them  indeed  produce  imitation  in 
rythm,'  words  and  harmony  ;  and  in  these,  either  sepa- 
rately assumed,  or  mingled  together.  Thus,  for  instance, 
the  arts  pertaining  to  the  flute  and  the  lyre,  alone  em- 
ploy harmony  and  rythm ;  and  this  will  also  be  the  case 
with  whatever  other  arts  there  may  be  which  possess  a 
power  of  this  kind ;  such  as  the  art  of  playing  on  pipes 
formed  from  reeds.  But  the  arts  pertaining  to  dancing 
imitate  by  rythm,  without  harmony  ;  for  dancers,  through 
figured  rythms,  imitate  manners,  and  passions,  and  ac- 
tions. The  epopee,  however,  alone  imitates  by  mere 
words,  viz.  metres,  and  by  these  either  mingling  them 
with  each  other,  or  employing  one  certain  genus  of  me- 
tres, which  method  has  been  adopted  [from  ancient  to  the 
present  times.]  For  [without  this  imitation,]  we  should 
have  no  common  name,  by  which  we  could  denominate  the 
Mimes  of  Sophron  and  Xenarchus,  and  the  dialogues  of 
Socrates ;  or  those  whose  imitation  consists  in  trimetres,  or 
elegies,  or  certain  other  things  of  this  kind  ;  except  that 
men  conjoining  with  measure  the  verb  to  make,  call 
some  of  these  elegiac  poets,  but  others  epic  poets,  not  as 
poets  according  to  imitation,  but  denominating  them  in 
common  according  to  measure.  For  they  are  accus- 
tomed thus  to  denominate  them,  if  they  write  any  thing 
medical  or  musical  in  measure,  [i.  e.  in  verse.]  There 
is,  however,  nothing  common  to  Homer  and  Empedo- 
cles  except  the  measure ;  on  which  account,  it  is  just 
indeed  to  call  the  former  a  poet ;  but  the  latter,  a  phy- 
siologist rather  than  a  poet.     In  a  similar  manner  though 

*  Rythm  is  defined  by  Plato  in  his  Laws  to  be,  orderlt/  motion 
either  of  the  body,  or  the  voice. 


CHAP.  ir. 


THE  POETIC. 


287 


some  one  mingling  all  the  measures,  should  produce  imi- 
tation,  as  Chaeremon  does,  who  wrote  the  Centaur,  which 
is  a  rhapsody  mingled  from  all  the  measures,  yet  he  must 
not  on  this  account  be  called  a  poet.  And  thus  much 
concerning  these  particulars.  There  are,  however,  some 
kinds  of  poetry  which  employ  all  the  before-mentioned 
[instruments  of  imitation;]  viz.  rythm,  melody,  and 
measure,  such  as  dithyrambic  poetry  and  the  Nomi,  and 
also  tragedy  aad  comedy.  But  these  differ,  because 
some  of  them  use  all  these  at  once,  but  others  partially. 
I  speak,  therefore,  of  these  differences  of  the  arts  in 
which  imitation  is  produced.    / 


CHAPTER  II. 


/ 


Since,  however,  imitators  imitate  those  who  do  some- 
thing, and  it  is  necessary  that  these  should  either  be 
worthy  or  depraved  persons ;  (for  manners  are  nearly 
always  consequent  to  these  alone,  since  all  men  differ  in 
their  manners  by  vice  and  virtue) — this  being  the  case,  it 
is  necessary,  in  the  same  manner  as  painters,  either  to 
imitate  those  who  are  better  than  men  of  the  present  age, 
or  those  who  are  worse,  or  such  as  exist  at  present.  For 
among  painters,  Polygnotus,  indeed,  painted  men  more 
beautiful  than  they  are  [at  present,]  but  Pauson  painted 
them  less  beautiful,  and  Dionysius  painted  them  so  as  to 


288 


THE    POKTIC. 


CHAP.  111. 


.resemble  men  of  our  times.  It  is  evident,  however,  that 
each  of  the  before-mentioned  imitations  has  these  diffe- 
rences ;  and  imitation  is  different,  by  imitating  different 
things  after  this  manner.  For  there  may  be  dissimilitudes 
of  this  kind  in  dancing,  in  playing  on  the  flute,  and  in 
playing  on  the  lyre ;  and  also  in  orations  and  mere  mea- 
sure. Thus  Homer  imitates  better  men  than  such  as 
exist  at  present,  but  Cleophon  men  similar  to  those  that 
now  exist ;  and  Hegemon  the  Tha^ian  who  first  made  pa- 
rodies, and  Nicocharis  who  wrote  the  Deliad,  imitate  men 
worse  than  those  of  the  present  age.  In  a  similar  man- 
ner in  dithyrambics  and  the  Nomi,  *  [there  may  be  an 
imitation  of  better  and  worse  men,]  as  Timotheus  and 
Philoxenus,  have  imitated  the  Persians  and  the  Cyclops. 
By  this  very  same  difference  also,  tragedy  is  separated 
from  comedy.  For  the  intention  of  comedy  indeed  is  to 
imitate  worse,  but  of  tragedy,  better  men  than  such  as 
exist  at  present.     / 


I 


CHAPTER  III. 

There  is  also  a  third  difference  of  these,  and  this  con- 
sists  in  the  manner  in  which  each  of  them  may  be  imitated. 


1  Lyric  poems,  such  as  those  of  Pindar,  and  in  short,  hymns  in 
praise  of  Bacchus,  are  called  dithyrambics.  The  Nomi  were  poems 
originally  composed  in  honour  of  Apollo,  and  derived  their  name 
from  being  sung  by  shepherds  among  the  paxiures. 


CHAP.  III. 


THE   POETIC. 


289 


For  by  the  same  [instruments,]  the  same  things  may  be 
imitated,  the  poet  sometimes  speaking  in  his  own  person, 
and  sometimes  in  that  of  another,  as  Homer  does;  or 
speaking  as  the  same  person  without  any  mutation  ;  or 
imitating  every  thing  as  acting  and  energizing.  But 
imitation  consists  in  these  three  differences,  as  we  said  in 
the  beginning  ;  viz.  it  differs  either  because  it  imitates  by 
different  instruments,  or  because  it  imitates  different 
things,  or  imitates  in  a  different  manner.  .  Hence,  Sopho- 
cles will  partly  be  the  same  imitator  as  liomer,  for  both 
of  them  imitate  celebrated  characters  ;  and  partly  the 
same  as  Aristophanes  ;  for  both  of  them  imitate  persons 
engaged  in  acting  and  performing ;  whence  also  it  is  said 
that  certain  persons  call  them  dramatists^  because  they 
imitate  those  who  are  engaged  in  doing  something.  On 
this  account  the  Dorians  vindicate  to  themselves  the  in- 
vention of  tragedy  and  comedy  ;  of  comedy  indeed  the 
Megarensians,  as  well  those  who  are  natives  of  Greece,  as 
being  invented  by  them  at  the  time  when  their  government 
was  a  democracy,  as  those  who  migrated  to  Sicily.  For 
the  poet  ^picharmus  derived  his  origin  from  thence,  who 
was  much  prior  to  Chonnides  and  Magnes.  But  some 
of  those  Dorians  who  inhabit  Peloponnesus  claim  the  in- 
vention of  tragedy,  making  names  an  indication  of  this. 
For  it  is  said  that  they  call  their  villages  komai^  but  the 
Athenians  demoi ;  as  if  comedians  were  not  so  denomi- 
nated from  komazein,  or  the  celebration  o/JestivalSy  but 
from  wandering  through  villages,  in  consequence  of  being 
ignominiously  expelled  from  cities.  The  verb  poiein 
also,  or  to  make,  is  by  the  Dorians  denominated  hpav^ 
dran,  but  by  the  Athenians  prattein.  And  thus  much 
concerning  the  differences  of  imitation,  as  to  their  num- 
ber and  quality.    / 


ArisL 


vpL.  I. 


29b 


THE    POJETIC. 


CHAP.  IV 


CHAPTER  IV. 


/ 


Two  causes,  however,  and  these  physical,  appear  In 
short  to  have  produced  poetry.  For  imitation  is  conge- 
nial to  men  from  childhood.  And  in  this  they  differ 
from  other  animals,  that  they  are  most  imitative,  and  ac- 
quire the  first  disciplines  through  imitation  ^  and  that  all 
men  delight  in  imitations.  But  an  indication  of  this  is 
that  which  happens  in  the  works  [of  artists.]  For  we 
are  delighted  on  surveying  very  accurate  images,  the 
realities  of  which  are  painful  to  the  view ;  such  as  the 
forms  of  very  savage  animals,  and  dead  bodies.  The 
cause,  however,  of  this  is  that  learning  is  not  only  most 
delightful  to  philosophers,  but  in  a  similar  manner  to 
other  persons,  though  they  partake  of  it  but  in  a  small 
degree.  For  on  this  account,  men  are  delighted  on  sur- 
veying images,  because  it  happens  that  by  this  survey  they 
learn  and  are  able  to  infer  what  each  particular  is ;  as, 
that  this  is  an  image  of  that  ,•  since,  unless  we  happen  to 
have  seen  the  realities,  we  are  not  pleased  with  the  imita- 
tion of  them,  but  the  delight  we  experiedce  arises  either 
from  the  elaboration  of  the  artist,  or  the  colour  of  the 
resemblance,  or  some  other  cause  of  the  like  kind.  But 
imitation,  harmony  and  rythm  being  natural  to  us,  (for  it 
is  evident  that  measures  or  metres  are  parts  of  rythms) 


CHAP.  IV.. 


THE    POETIC, 


291 


those  who  are  especially  adapted  to  these  things,  making 
a  gradual  progress  from  the  beginning,  produced  poetry 
from  extemporaneous  efforts.  Poetry,  however,  was 
divided  according  to  appropriate  manners.  For  men  of 
a.  more  venerable  character  imitated  beautiful  actions, 
and  the  fortunes  of  those  by  whom  they  were  performed  ; 
but  more  ignoble  men  imitated  the  actions  of  depraved 
characters,  first  composing  vituperative  verses,  in  the 
same  manner  as  the  other  composed  hymns  and  enco- 
miums. Prior,  therefore,  to  Homer,  we  cannot  mention 
any  poem  of  this  kind  ;  though  it  is  probable  that  there 
were  many  such.  But  if  we  begin  from  Homer,  we 
may  adduce  examples  of  each  kind  of  poems ;  such  for 
instance  as  his  Margites,'  and  some  others,  in  which  as 
adapted  to  reprehension  the  measure  is  Iambic.  Hence, 
also,  vituperative  verse  is  now  called  Iambic,  because  in 
this  metre,  [those  ancient  poets  after  Homer]  defamed 
each  other.  Of  ancient  poets  likewise,  some  composed 
heroic  poems,  and  others  Iambic  verses.  But  as  Homer 
was  the  greatest  of  poets  on  serious  subjects ;  and  this 
not  only  because  he  imitated  well,  but  also  because  he 
made  dramatic  imitations ;  thus  too  he  first  demonstrated 
the  figures  of  comedy,  not  dramatically  exhibiting  re- 
prehension,  but  the  ridiculous.  For  as  is  the  Iliad  and 
Odyssey  to  tragedy,  so  is  the  Margites  to  comedy.  Of 
those  poets,  however,  who  were  appropriately  impelled 
to  each  kind  of  poetry,  some,  instead  of  writing  Iambics, 
became  comic  poets,  but  others,  instead  of  writing  epic 
poems,  became  the  authors  of  tragedies,  because  these 
forms  are  greater  and  more  honourable  than  those.    To 


■  This  was  a  satirical  poem,  the  name  of  which  is  derived  from 
fiapyrjs  OF  /lapyoj,  Jbolish,  ignorant. 


292 


THE    POETIC. 


CHAP.  IV. 


consider,  therefore,  whether  tragedy  is  now  perfect  in  its 
species  or  not,  as  well  with  reference  to  itself,  as  to 
fheatres,  is  the  business  of  another  treatise.  Both  tragedy 
and  comedy,  therefore,  were  at  first  exhibited  in  extem- 
poraneous verse.  And  tragedy,  indeed,  originated  from 
those  who  sung  dithyrambic  verses  ;  but  comedy,  from 
those  who  sung  Phallic  verses,*  which  even  now  in  many 
cities  are  legally  established.  Thus  comedy  became  gra- 
dually increased,  till  it  arrived  at  its  present  condition..- 
And  tragedy,  having  experienced  many  mutations,  rested 
from  any  further  change,  in  consequence  of  having  ar- 
rived at  the  perfection  of  its  nature,  -ffischylus,  also,  first 
brought  the  number  of  players  from  one  to  two.  He 
likewise  diminished  the  parts  of  the  chorus,  and  made 
one  of  the  players  act  the  first  part  of  the  tragedy.  But 
Sophocles  introduced  three  players  into  the  scene,  and 
added  scenic  decoration.  Farther  still,  tragedy  having 
acquired  magnitude  from  small  fables,  and  ridiculous 
diction,  in  consequence  of  having  received  a  change 
from  satiric  composition,  it  was  late  before  it  acquired  a 
venerable  character.  The  metre  also  of  tragedy,  from 
tetrameter,  became  Iambic.  For  at  first  tetrameter  was ' 
used  in  tragedy,  because  poetry  was  then  satirical,  and' 
more  adapted  to  the  dance.  But  dialogue  being  adopted, 
nature  herself  discovered  an  appropriate  metre;  for  the 
Iambic  measure  is  of  all  others  most  adapted  to  conver- 
sation. And  as  an  indication  of  this,  we  most  frequently 
speak  in  Iambics  in  familiar  discourse  with  each  other  ; 
but  we  seldom  speak  in  hexameters,  and  then  only  when 
we  exceed  the  limits  of  that  harmony  which  is  adapted 

*  These  were  verses  in  honour  of  the  rural  deities. 


CHAP.  V. 


THE   POETIC. 


293 


to  conversation.  Again,  tragedy  is  said  to  have  been 
[at  length]  adorned,  with  a  multitude  of  episodes,  and 
other  particulars.  Let,  therefore,  thus  much  suffice 
concerning  these  things  ;  for  it  would  perhaps  be  a  greater 
labour  to  discuss  every  particular..  / 


CHAPTER  V. 


/. 


Comedy  however  is,  as  we  have  said,  an  imitation 
indeed  of  more  depraved  characters,  yet  it  does  not  imi- 
tate them  according  to  every  vice,  [but  according  to 
those  defects  alone  which  excite  laughter ;]  since  the 
ridiculous  is  a  portion  of  turpitude.  For  the  ridiculous 
is  a  certain  error,  and  turpitude  unattended  with  pain, 
and  not  of  a  destructive  nature.  Thus,  for  instance,  a 
ridiculous  face  is  something  deformed,  and  distorted 
without  pain.  The  transitions,  therefore,  of  tragedy, 
and  the  causes  through  which  they  are  produced,  are  not 
unknown  \  but  we  are  ignorant  of  the  changes  that 
comedy  has  experienced,  because  it  was  not  at  first  an 
object  of  serious  attention.  For  it  was  late  before  the 
magistrate  [who  presided  over  the  games,]  gave  the 
chorus  to  comedians  ;  but  prior  to  that  period,  the  cho- 
ruses were  voluntary.  Comedy,  however,  at  length  hav- 
ing obtained  a  certain  form,  those  who  are  said  to  be  the 


294 


THE    POETIC. 


CHAP.  V. 


authors  of  it  are  commemorated.  But  it  is  unknown 
who  It  was  that  Introduced  masks,  or  prologues,  or  a 
multitude  of  players,  and  such  like  particulars.  Epi- 
charmus,  however,  and  Phormis,  began  to  compose 
fables  ;  which,  therefore,  [as  both  of  them  were  Sici- 
lians] originated  from  Sicily.  But  among  the  Athenians 
Crates,  rejecting  the  Iambic  form  of  comedy,  first  began 
universally  to  compose  speeches  and  fables.  The  epopee, 
therefore,  is  an  attendant  on  tragedy,  as  far  as  pertains 
to  measured  diction  alone,  since  through  this  it  is  an  imi- 
tation of  worthy  persons  and  actions.  But  it  diifers 
from  tragedy  in  this,  that  it  has  a  simple  metre,  and  is  a 
narration.  It  also  differs  from  it  in  length.  For  tragedy 
is  especially  bounded  by  one  period  of  the  sun,  [i.  e.  by 
one  natural  day,]  or  admits  but  a  small  variation  from 
this  period ;  but  the  epopee  is  not  defined  within  a  cer- 
tain time,  and  in  this  it  differs  from  tragedy ;  though  at 
first  tragedy,  no  less  than  epic  poetry,  was  not  confined 
to  any  portion  of  time.  With  respect  to  the  parts,  how- 
ever, of  the  epopee  and  tragedy,  some  are  the  same  in 
both,  but  others  are  peculiar  to  tragedy.  Hence  he 
who  knows  what  is  a  good  or  bad  tragedy,  knows  also 
what  kind-  of  epic  poetry  is  good  or  bad.  For  those 
things  which  the  epopee  possesses  are  also  present  with 
tragedy  ;  but  the  epopee  has  not  every  thing  which  tra-  J 
gedy  contains.  / 


GH  AP,-  VI. 


THE    POETIC. 


295^ 


CHAPTER  VL 


Concerning  hexameter  imitative  poetry,  therefore^ 
and  comedy,  we  shall  speak  hereafter.  Let  us  now, 
however,  speak  concerning  tragedy,  assuming  the  defi- 
nition  of  its  essence  as  deduced  from  what  has  been 
already  said^  Tragedy ^  therefore^  is  an  imitation  of  a 
worthy  or  iHicstriotcs,  and  perfect  action^  possessing  mag^ 
nityde^  delivered  in  pleasing  language^  using  separately^ 
tfie  several  species  of  imitation  in  its  partSj  and  not 
through  narration  but  through  pity  and  fear  effecting 
a  purification  from  such  like  passions.^     But  I  say  it  is 


■  When  Aristotle  says  that  tragedy  through  pity  and  fear  effects 
a  purification  Jrom  such  tike  passions,  his  meaning  is,  that  it  purifies 
from  those  perturbations,  which  kappen  in  the  fable,  and  which 
for  the  most  part  are  the  cause  of  the  peripetia,  and  of  the  un- 
happy event  of  the  fable.  Thus  for  instance,  Sophocles,  through 
pity  and  terror  excited  by  the  character  of  Ajax,  intends  a  purifi- 
cation from  anger  and  impiety  towards  the  gods,  because  through 
this  anger  and  impiety  those  misfortunes  happened  to  Ajax  ;  and 
thus  in  other  instances.  For  it  must  by  no  means  be  said  that  the 
meaning  of  Aristotle  is,  that  tragedy  through  terror  and  pity 
purifies  the  spectators  from  terror  and  pity ;  since  he  says  in  the 
2d  book  of  hb  Ethics,  "  that  he  who  is  accustomed  to  timid  things 
becomes  timid,  and  to  anger  becomes  angry,  because  habit  is  pro- 
duced from  energies.'*  Hence,  we  are  so  far  from  being  able, 
through  the  medium  of  terror  and  pity  in  tragedy,  to  remote 


296 


THE    POETIC. 


GHAP.  VU 


an  imitation  delivered  in  pleasing  language^  viz.  in 
language  possessing  rythm,  harmony,  and  melody.  And, 
it  uses  separately  the  several  species  of  imitation,  because 

terror  and  pity  from  the  spectators,  that  by  accustoming  them  to 
objects  of  commiseration  and  terror,  we  shall  in  a  greater  degree 
subject  them  to  these  passions.  Indeed,  if  tragedy  intended  through 
pity  to  purify  from  pity^  and  through  fear  to  purify  from  fear,  it 
would  follow  that  the  same  passion  of  the  soul  would  be  contrary 
to  itself;  for  contraries  are  cured  by  contraries.  Hence,  fear  would 
be  contrary  to  itself,  and  pity  would  be  contrary  to  pity.  Hence, 
also,  energies  would  be  contrary  to  their  proper  habits,  or  rather  the 
same  energies  and  habits  would  be  contrary  to  each  other,  which 
is  repugnant  to  reason  and  experience.  For  we  see  that  energies 
and  habits  are  increased  and  established  from  similar  energies. 

By  no  means,  therefore,  does  Aristotle  oppose  Plato,  in  ascribing 
this  purifying  effect  to  tragedy.  For  when  Plato  expels  tragic 
poets  from  his  Republic,  it  is  because  they  are  not  serviceable  to 
youth  who  are  to  be  educated  philosophically.  For  a  purification 
from  all  the  passions  is  effected  by  philosophic  discipline;  but 
tragedy  only  purifies  from  some  of  the  passions,  by  the  assistance 
of  others,  viz.  by  terror  and  pity  ;  since  it  is  so  far  from  purifying 
the  spectators  from  terror  and  pity,  that  it  increases  them.  To 
which  we  may  add,  that  philosophic  discipline  is  not  attended  with 
the  mythological  imitation  of  ancient  tragedy,  which  though  it  har- 
monizes with  divine  natures,  and  leads  those  who  possess  a  natu- 
rally good  disposition  to  the  contemplation  of  them,  yet  it  is  not 
useful  to  legislators  for  the  purposes  of  virtue  and  education,  nor 
for  the  proper  tuition  of  youth.  For  the  good  which  such  fables 
contain  is  not  disciplinative,  but  mystic ;  nor  does  it  regard  a  juve- 
nile, but  an  aged  habit  of  soul.  For  Socrates  in  the  Republic 
justly  observes,  "  The  young  person  is  not  able  to  judge  what  is 
allegory,  and  what  is  not;  but  whatever  opinions  he  receives  at 
such  an  age,  are  with  difficulty  washed  away,  and  are  generally 
immoveable." 

None  of  the  English  translators  and  commentators  On  the  Poetic 
of  Aristotle,  that  I  have  seen,  appear  to  have  had  the  least  glimpse 
of  this  meaning  of  the  passage,  though  I  trust  it  is  sufficiently  ob- 
vious  that  it  is  the  genuine  meaning  of  Aristotle,  '-' 


CHAP.  VI. 


THE  POETIC. 


297 


some  parts  of  the  tragedy  are  alone  perfected  through 
metres,  and  again   others   through   melody.     Because, 
however,  tragedians  produce  imitation  by  acting,  in  the 
first  place  the  ornament  of  the  sight  [i.  e.  the  scenic  ap^ 
'  paratusj  will  be  a  certain  part  of  tragedy,  and  in  the 
next  place  the  melopoeia  [which  comprehends  rj'thm, 
harmony,  and  melody,]  and  the  diction.     For  in  these 
imitation  is  produced.     But  I  call  diction,  indeed,  the 
composition   of  the   metres ;   and   melopoeia   that,   the 
whole   power  of  which  is  apparent.     Since,   however, 
tragedy  is  an  imitation  of  action,  and  action  is  effected  by 
certain  agents,  who  must  necessarily  be  persons  of  a  cer- 
tain description  both  as  to  their  manners  and  their  mind, 
(for  through  these  we  say  that  actions  derive  their  quality) 
hence  there  are  naturally  two  causes  of  actions,  dianoia ' 
and  manners,  and  through  these  actions  all  men  obtain 
or  are  frustrated  of  the  object  of  their  wishes.     But  a 
fable,  indeed,  is  an  imitation  of  action  ;  for  I  mean  by  a 
fable  here,  the  composition  of  things.     By  manners  I 
mean  those  things  according  to  which  we  say  that  agents 
are  persons  of  a  certain  description  ;  and  by  dianoia  that 
through  which  those  who  speak  demonstrate  any  thmg, 
or  unfold  their  meaning.     It  is  necessary,  therefore,  that 
the  parts  of  every  tragedy  should  be  six,  from  which 
the  tragedy  derives  its  quality.     But  these  are,  fable  and 
manners,  diction  and  dianoia,  sight  and  melopoeia.     Of 
these  parts,  however,  two  pertain  to  the  instruments  by 

*  Dianoia  hcc.c^cc  in  a  general  way,  may  be  defined  to  be  J«J.J... 
rou  A.y.«  ^n^yi^c  i.  e.  the  discurnve  energy  of  reason.  But  accu- 
rately  speaking,  it  is  that  po^er  of  soul  ^Jdch  reasons  .Wj/fca^, 
denving  the  principles  of  its  reasoning  from  inteUect.  This  latter 
definition,  however,  pertains  to  it,  so  far  as  it  u  not  mfluenced  m 
its  reasonings  by  imagination  and  false  opmions. 


298 


THE    POETIC. 


CHAP.  VU 


which  tragedy  imitates ;  one,  to  the  manner  in  which  it 
imitates ;  and  three  to  the  things  which  it  imitates.    And 
besides  these,  there  are  no  other.    Not  a  few  tragic  poets, 
therefore,  as  I  may  say,  use  all  these  species  [i.  e.  partsj 
in  composing  tragedies.     For  every  tragedy  has  a  scenic 
apparatus,  manners,  and  a  fable,  and  melody,  and  in  a, 
similar  manner  dianoia.     But  the  greatest  of  these  is  the 
combination  of  the  incidents.   For  tragedy  is  an  imitation 
not  of  men,  but  of  actions,  of  life,  and  of  felicity  and 
infelicity.     For  felicity  consists  in  action,  and  the  end 
[of  tragedy,]  is  a  certain  action,   and  not  a  quality. 
Men,  however,  are  persons  of  a  certain  character  or 
quality,  according  to  their  manners ;  but  according  to 
_^  their  actions,  they  are  happy,  or  the  contrary.     The  end 
of  tragedy,  therefore,  does  not  consist  in  imitating  man- 
ners, but  actions,  and  hence  it  embraces  manners  on 
account  of  actions ;  so  that  things  and  fable  are  the  end 
of  tragedy.     The  end,  however,  is  the  greatest  of  all 
things  ;  for  without  action,  tragedy  cannot  exist ;  but  it 
may  exist  without  manners.    For  most  modern  tragedies 
are  without  manners ;  and  in  short,  many  poets  are  such 
as  among  painters  Zeuxis  is  when  compared  with  Poly- 
gnotus.    For  Polygnotus,  indeed,  painted  the  manners  of 
good  men ;  but  the  pictures  of  Zeuxis  are  without  man- 
ners.     Farther  still,  if  any  one  places  in  a  continued 
series  ethical  assertions,  and  dictions  and  conceptions 
well  framed,  he   will  not  produce  that   which   is  the 
work  of  tragedy ;  but  that  will  be  in  a  much  greater 
degree  a  tragedy,  which  uses  these  as  things  subordinate, 
and  which  contains  a  fable  and  combination  of  incidents! 
To  which  may  be  added,  that  the  greatest  parts  of  the 
feble  by  which  the  soul  is  allured  are  the  peripetiae,  [or 
changes  of  fortune]  and  recognitions.    Agam,  it  is  like- 


CHAP.  VI. 


THE  POETIC. 


299 


wise  an  Indication  of  this,  that  those  who  attempt  to  vrrite 
tragedies,  acquire  the  power  of  expressing  a  thing  in  tragic 
diction,  and  representing  manners  accurately,  before  they 
possess  the  ability  of  composing  the  fable,  as  was  nearly 
the  case  with  all  the  first  poets.     The  fable,  therefore, 
is  the  principle,  and  as  it  were  the  soul  of  tragedy  ;   but 
manners  rank  in  the  second  place.   For  tragedy  resembles 
the  art  of  painting  ;  since  the  most  beautiful  pigments  laid 
on  the  canvas  [promiscuously]  would  be  less  pleasing 
to  the  view,  than  an  image  painted  with  a  white  colour 
alone,  [i.  e.  than  a  picture  in  which  there  is  nothing  but 
light  and  shade.]    Tragedy  also  is  an  imitation  of  action, 
and  on  this  account  is  especially  an  imitation  of  agents. 
But  dianoia  ranks  in  the  third  place.     And  this  is  the 
ability  of  unfolding  what  is  inherent  in  the  subject,  and 
is  adapted  to  it,  which  ability  is  the  peculiar  power  of 
politics  and  rhetoric.     For  ancient  poets  represent  those 
whom  they  introduce  as  speaking  politically ;  but  poets 
of  the  present  day  represent  them  as  speaking  rhetori- 
cally.    Manners,  however,  are  a  thing  of  such  a  kind  as 
to  render  manifest  what  the  deliberate  choice  is,  in  those 
things  in  which  it  is  not  apparent  whether  the  speaker  is 
influenced  by  choice  or  aversion.     Hence  some  speeches 
are  without  manners.     But  dianoia'   is  that  through 
which  it  is  shown  that  a  certain  thing  is,  or  is  not,  or 
•which  universally  enunciates  something.    And  the  fourth 
part  of  tragedy  is  diction.     But  I  say,  as  was  before 

>  Dianoia,  therefore,  cannot  be.  as  I  have  seen  it  translated, 
smtiment.  For  can  any  thing  be  more  obvious  than  that  the  power 
through  which  it  is  shown  that  a  thing  is  or  is  not,  and  which 
universally  enunciates  something,  must  bft  discursioe,  agreeably  to 
the  definition  we  have  before  given  of  dianoia  ?  But  how  is  this  to 
be  effected  by  sentiment  ? 


1 


300 


THE    POETIC. 


CHAP.  VII, 


observed,  that  diction  is  an  interpretation  through  the 
denomination  if  a  thing,  and  w/iick  also  has  the  same 
power  in  verse  and  prose.  The  melopoeia,  however, 
ranks  in  the  fifth  place,  which  is  the  greatest  of  condi- 
ments.^  But  the  sight  [i.  e.  the  scenic  apparatus,]  pos- 
sesses  indeed  an  alluring  power  ;  yet  it  is  most  inartificial, 
and  is  in  the  smallest  degree  appropriate  to  poetry.  For 
the  power  of  tragedy  remains,  even  when  unaccompanied 
with  scenic  apparatus  and  players.  And  farther  still,  the 
art  of  constructing  the  scenic  apparatus  possesses  greater 
authority  than  the  art  of  the  poet.     ^ 


CHAPTER  VII. 


These  things  being  defined,  let  us  ii'the  next  place 
show  what  the  combination  of  the  incidents  ought  to  be, 
since  this  is  the  first  and  greatest  part  of  tragedy.  But 
let  it  be  granted  to  us,  that  tragedy  is  the  imitation  of  a 
perfect  and  whole  action,  and  which  possesses  a  certain 
magnitude ;  for  there  may  be  a  whole  which  has  no  [ap- 
propriate] magnitude.  A  whole,  however,  is  that  which 
has  a  beginning,  middle,  and  end.  And  the  beginning  is 
that  which  necessarily  is  not  itself  posterior  to  another 
thing;  but  another  thing  is  naturally  adapted  to  be  pos- 
terior  to  it.  On  the  contrary  the  end  is  that,  which  is 
itself  naturally  adapted  to  be  posterior  to  another  thing, 
either  from  necessity,  or  for  the  most  part ;  but  after  this 


CHAP.  VII. 


THE    POETIC. 


301 


there  is  nothing  else.     But  the  middle  is  that  which  is 
Itself  posterior  to  another  thing,  and  posterior  to  which 
there  is  something  else.    Hence,  it  is  necessary  that  those 
who  compose  fables  properly,  should  neither  begin  them 
casually,  nor  end  them  casually,  but  should  employ  the 
above-mentioned  ideas  [of  beginning,  middle,  and  end.] 
Farther  still,  that  which  is  beautiful,  whether  it  be  an 
animal,  or  any  thing  else  which  is  a  composite  from  cer- 
tain parts,  ought  not  only  to  have  this  arrangement  of 
beginning,  middle,  and  end,  but  a  magnitude  also  which 
is  not  casual.     For  the  beautiful  consists  in  magnitude 
and  order.     Hence,  neither  can  any  very  small  animal  be 
beautiful ;  for  the  survey  of  it  is  confused,  since   it  is 
effected  in  nearly  an  insensible  time.     Nor  can  a  very 
large  animal  be  beautiful ;  for  it  cannot  be  surveyed  at 
once,  but  its  subsistence  as  one  and  a  whole  eludes  ihe  view 
of  the  spectators ;  such  as  if,  for  instance,  it  should  be  an 
animal  of  ten  thousand  stadia  in  length.     Hence,  as  in 
bodies  and  in  animals  it  is  necessary  there  should  be  mag- 
nitude, but  such  as  can  easily  be  seen ;  thus  also  in  fables, 
it    is  necessary  indeed   there    should   be   length,   but 
this   such   as  can   easily   be  remembered.      The   defi- 
nition, however,  of  the  length  [of  the  fable]  with  refer- 
ence  to  contests   and  the  senses,   [i.  e.  with  reference 
to  external  circumstances,]  cannot  fall  under  the  precepts 
of  art.      For  if  it  were  requisite  to  perform  a  hundred 
tragedies  [in  one  day,]  as  is  said  to  have  been  the  case 
more  than  once,  the  performance  ought  to  be  regulated 
by  a  clepsydra  [or  hour-glass.]   But  the  definition  of  the 
length  of  the  fable  according  to  the  nature  of  the  thing, 
is  this,  that  the  fable  is  always  more  beautiful  the  greater 
it  is,  if  at  the  same  time  it  is  perspicuous.     Simply  di- 
ning the  thing,  however,  we  may  say,  that  every  fable 


302 


THE    POETIC. 


CHAP.  VIII. 


has  an  appropriate  magnitude,  when  the  time  of  its  dura- 
tion is  such  as  to  render  it  probable  that  the  transition 
from  prosperous  to  adverse,  or  from  adverse  to  prosperous 
fortune  which  it  relates,  has  taken  place,  the  necessary  or 
probable  order  of  things  being  preserved,  through  which 
one  thing  follows  from,  and  after  another.    / 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

/  The  fable,  however,  is  one,  not  as  some  fancy,  if  one 
person  is  the  subject  of  it ;  for  many  things  and  which  are 
generically  infinite  happen  [to  one  and  the  same  man ;] 
from  a  certain  number  of  which  no  one  thing  results. 
Thus,  also,  there  are  many  actions  of  one  man,  from 
which  no  one  action  is  produced ;  on  which  account  all 
those  poets  appear  to  have  erred  who  have  written  the 
Heracleid,  and  Theseid,  and  such  like  poems.  For  they 
fancied  that  because  Hercules  was  one  person,  it  was  fit 
that  the  fable  should  be  one.  Homer,  however,  as  he 
excelled  in  other  things,  appears  likewise  to  have  seen 
this  acutely,  whether  from  art,  or  from  nature.  For  in 
composing  the  Odyssey,  he  has  not  related  every  thing 
which  happened  to  Ulysses ;  such  as  the  being  wounded 
in  Parnassus,  and  pretending  to  be  insane,  when  the 
Greeks  were  collected  into  one  army  against  the  Tro- 
jans  ;  one  of  which  taking  place,  it  was  not  necessary  or 


CHAP.  IX. 


THE    POETIC. 


303 


probable  that  the  other  should  happen ;  but  he  composed 
that  poem  from  what  relates  to  one  action,  such  as  we 
say  the  Odyssey  is ;  and  he  has  composed  the  Iliad  in  a 
similar  manner.  It  is  requisite,  therefore,  as  in  other 
imitative  arts  one  imitation  is  the  imitation  of  one  thing, 
thus,  also,  [in  tragedy,]  the  fable  should  be  the  imitation 
cf  one  action,  since  it  is  an  imitation  of  action,  and  of  the 
whole  of  this,  and  that  the  parts  of  the  transactions 
should  be  so  arranged,  that  any  one  of  them  being  trans- 
posed, or  taken  away,  the  whole  would  become  diflferent 
and  changed.  For  that  which  when  present  or  not  pre- 
sent produces  nothing  perspicuous,  is  not  a  part  of  the 
fable.    / 


/ 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Jt  is  however  evident  from  what  has  been  said,  that  it 
is  not  the  province  of  a  poet  to  relate  things  which  have 
been  transacted,  but  to  describe  them  such  as  they  would 
have  been  had  they  been  transacted,  and  to  narrate  things 
which  are  possible  according  to  probability,  or  which 
would  necessarily  have  happened.  For  an  historian  and 
a  poet  do  not  differ  from  each  other,  because  the  former 
writes  in  prose  and  the  latter  in  verse  ;  for  the  history  of 
Herodotus  might  be  written  in  verse,  and  yet  it  would 


304 


THE    POETIC. 


CHAP.  IX. 


be  no  less  a  history  with  metre,  than  without.     But  they 
differ  in  this,  that  the  one  speaks  of  things  which  have 
been  transacted,  and  the  other  of  such  as  might  have  hap- 
pened.    Hence,  poetry  is  more  philosophic,  and  more 
deserving  of  serious  attention  than  history.      For  poetry 
speaks   more  of  universals,  but  history  of  particulars. 
Universal,  however,  consists  indeed   in  relating  or  per- 
forming certain  things  which  happen  to  a  man  of  a  cer- 
tain description,  either  probably  or  necessarily,  and  to 
which  the  attention  of  poetry  is  directed  in  giving  names  , 
to  men;  hnt particular  consists  in  narrating  what  Alci- 
biades  did,  or  what  he  suffered.     In  comedy,  therefore, 
this  is  now  become  manifest.      For  comic  poets  having 
composed  a  fable  through  things  of  a  probable  nature, 
they  thus  give  names  to  the  persons  they  introduce  in 
the  fable,  and  do  not,  like  Iambic  poets,  write  poems 
about   particular  persons.  \But  in  tragedy  the  ancient 
names  are  retained.     The  cause,  however,  of  this  is  that 
the  possible  is  credible.     Things,  therefore,  which  have 
not  yet  been  done,  we  do  not  yet  believe  to  be  possible  ; 
but  it  is  evident  that  things  which  have  been  done  are 
possible ;  for  they  would  not  have  been  done,  if  it  was 
impossible  that  they  should.     Not,  indeed,  but  that  in 
some  tragedies  there  is  one  or  two  of  known  names,  and 
the  rest  are  feigned  ;  but  in  othei^  there  is  no  known 
name ;  as  for  instance,  in  the  tragedy  of  Agatho  called 
the   Flower.     For  in  this  tragedy,  the  things  and  the 
names  are  alike  feigned,  and  yet  it  no  less  delights  [than 
if  they  were  not  feigned.]     Hence,  ancient  fables  which 
are  the  subjects  of  tragedy,  must  not  be  entirely  adhered 
to.     For  it  is  ridiculous  to  make  this  the  object  of  inves- 
tigation, because  such  fables  are  known  but  to  a  few, 
though  at  the  same  time  they  delight  all  men.     From 


CHAP.  IX; 


THE    POETIC. 


305 


these  things,  therefore,  it  is  evident  that  a  poet  ought 
rather  to  be  the  author  of  fables  than  of  metres,  because 
he  is  principally  a  poet  from  imitation.  But  he  imitates 
actions.  Hence,  though  it  should  happen  that  he  re- 
lates [as  probable]  things  which  have  taken  place,  he  is 
no  less  a  poet.  For  nothing  hinders  but  that  some 
actions  which  might  have  been  performed,  are  such  as 
it  is  both  probable  and  possible  have  happened,  and 
by  the  nari'ation  of  such  he  is  a  poet. 

Of  simple  fables,  however,  and  actions,  the  episodic  are 
the  worst.  But  I  call  the  fable  episodic,  in  which  it  is 
neither  probable,  nor  necessary  that  the  episodes  follow 
each  other.  Such  fables,  however,  are  composed  by 
bad  poets,  indeed,  on  their  own  account ;  but  by  good 
poets,  on  account  of  the  players.  For,  introducing  con- 
tests [among  the  players,]  and  extending  the  fable  beyond 
what  it  will  admit,  they  are  frequently  compelled  to  dis- 
tort the  connected  order  of  things.  Tragedy,  however, 
IS  not  only  an  imitation  of  a  perfect  action,  but  also  of 
actions  which  are  terrible,  and  the  objects  of  commisera- 
tion. But  actions  principally  become  such,  and  in  a 
greater  degree,  when  they  happen  contrary  to  opinion, 
on  account  of  each  other.  For  thus,  they  will  be  more 
admirable,  than  if  they  happened  from  chance  and  for- 
tune ;  since,  also,  of  things  which  are  from  fortune, 
those  appear  to  be  most  admirable,  which  seem  to  be  as 
it  were  adapted  to  take  place.  Thus  the  statue  of  Mityus 
fin  Argos,]  by  falling,  slew  him  who  was  the  cause  of  the 
death  of  Mityus,  as  he  was  surveying  it.  For  such 
events  as  these  seem  not  to  take  place  casually.  Hence, 
it  is  necessary  that  fables  of  this  kind  should  be  more 
beautiful.^ 

Arist.  VOL.  I.  u 


306 


THE    POETIC. 


CHAP.  X.  XI; 


CHAPTER  X. 

Of  fables,  however,  some  are  simple,  and  others  com- 
plex ;  for  the  actions  of  which  fables  are  the  imitations, 
are  immediately  things  of  this  kind.  But  I  call  the  action 
simple,  from  which  taking  place,  as  it  has  been  defined, 
with  continuity  and  unity,  there  is  a  transition  without 
peripetia,  or  recognition.  And  I  call  the  action  com- 
plex, from  which  there  is  a  transition,  together  with 
recognition,  or  peripetia,  or  both.  It  is  necessary,  how- 
ever, that  these  should  be  effected  from  the  composition 
Itself  of  the  fable,  so  that  from  prior  transactions  it  may 
happen  that  the  same  things  take  place  either  necessarily, 
or  probably.  For  it  makes  a  great  difference  whether 
these  things  are  effected  on  account  of  these,  or  after 
these. 


CHAPTER  XL 

But  peripetia,  indeed,  is  a  mutation,  as  we  have 
before  observed,  of  actions  into  a  contrary  condition;  and 
this,  as  we  say,  according  to  the  probable,  or  the  necessary. 
Thus  in  the  CEdipus  [Tyrannus  of  Sophocles,]  the  mes- 


CHAP.  XI. 


THE    POETIC. 


307 


senger  who  comes  with  an  intention  of  delighting  CEdi- 
pus, and  liberating  him  from   his   fear   respecting   his 
mother,  when  he  makes  himself  known,  produces  a  con- 
trary effect.     Thus  too,  in  the  tragedy  called  Lynceus, 
he  indeed  is  introduced  as  one  who  is  to  die,  and  Danalis 
follows  with  an  intention  of  killing  him ;  but  it  happens 
from  the  transactions  of  the  tragedy,  that   Lynceus  is 
saved,  and  Danalis  is  slain.     And  recognition  is,  as  the 
name  signifies,  a  mutation  from  ignorance  to  knowledge, 
or  into  the  friendship  or  hatred  of  those  who  are  in 
prosperous  or  adverse  fortune.     The  recognition,  how- 
ever, is  most  beautiful,  when  at  the  same  time  there  are 
peripetias,  as  in  the  CEdipus  [Tyrannus  of  Sophocles.]| 
There  are,  therefore,  also  other  recognitions.    For  some- 
times it  happAs,  as  we  have  before  observed,  that  there 
are  recognitions  of  things  inanimate,  and  casual.     And  if 
some  one  has  performed,  or  has  not  performed,  a  thing, 
there  is  a  recognition  of  it ;  but  the  recognition  which 
especially  pertains  to  the  fable  and  the  action,  is  that 
which  we  have  mentioned.     For  a  recognition  and  peri- 
'  petia  of  this  kind,  excite  either  pity  or  fear ;  and  tragedy 
is  supposed  by  us  to  be  an  imitation  of  actions  which- 
produce  fear  and  commiseration.     Again,  it  will  happen 
that  infelicity  and  felicity  will  be  in  such-like  recogni- 
tions ;  since  recognition  is  a  recognition  of  certain  per- 
sons.    Farther   still,  of  recognitions,  some  are  of  one 
person  only  with  reference  to  another,  when  it  is  evident 
who  the  other  person  is,  but  sometimes  it  is  necessary  to 
recognize  both  persons.    Thus  Iphigenia  was  recognized 
by  Orestes  through  the  sending  an  epistle ;  but  another 
recognition  was  requisite  to  his  being  known  by  Iphi- 
genia. 


308 


THE    POETIC. 


CHAP.  Xil. 


CHAPTER  XIL 


Two  parts  of  the  fable,  therefore,  viz.  peripetia  and 
recognition,  are  conversant  with  these  things;  but  the 
third  part  is  pathos  [or  corporeal  suffering.]  And  of 
these  we  have  already  discussed  peripetia  and  recogni- 
tion. Pathos,  however,  is  an  action  destructive,  or 
lamentable  j  such  as  death  when  it  is  obvious,  grievous 
pains,  wounds,  and  such-like  particulars.  But  we  have 
before  spoken  of  the  parts  of  tragedy  which  it  is  requisite 
to  use  as  species.  The  parts  of  tragedy,  however,  ac- 
cording to  quantity,  and  into  which  it  is  separately  divi- 
ded, are  as  follow :  prologue,  episode,  exode,  and  chorus. 
And  of  the  parts  pertaining  to  the  chorus,  one  is  the 
parodos,  but  the  other  is  the  stasimon.  These  [five] 
parts,  therefore,  ar^  common  to  all  tragedies  j  but  the 
peculiar  parts  are  those  which  are  derived  from  the  scene 
and  the  commi.  And  the  prologue,  indeed,  is  the  whole 
part  of  the  tragedy,  prior  to  the  entrance  of  the  chorus. 
The  episode  is  the  whole  part  of  the  tragedy,  which  is 
between  all  the  melody  of  the  chorus.  The  exode  is 
the  whole  part  of  the  tragedy,  after  which  there  is  no 
further  melody  of  the  chorus.  And  of  the  chorus  itself, 
the  parodos,  indeed,  is  the  first  singing  of  the  whole 
chorus ;  but  the  stasimon  is  the  melody  of  the  chorus, 
widaout  trochee  and  anapsest :  and  the  commus  is  the 


CHAP,  xni. 


THE    POETIC. 


309 


common  lamentation  of  the  chorus  and  the  scene.  We 
have,  therefore,  before  shown  what  the  parts  of  tragedy 
are  which  must  necessarily  be  used  ;  but  the  parts  of  it 
according  to  quantity,  and  into  which  it  is  separately  di- 
vided, are  these. 


I  CHAPTER  XIIL 

'  In  the  next  place  we  must  show,  as  consequent  to 
what  has  been  said,  to  what  the  attention  ought  to  be 
directed  of  those  who  compose  fables,  and  whence  the 
work  of  tragedy  is  derived.     Since,  therefore,  it  is  ne- 
cessary that  the  composition  of  the  most  beautiful  tra- 
gedy should  not  be  simple,  but  complex,  and  that  it 
should  be  imitative  of  things  of  a  dreadful  and  comml- 
serable  nature  (for  this  is  the  peculiarity  of  such  an  imi- 
tation)—in  the  first  place  it  is  evident,  that  it  is  not  pro- 
per worthy  men  should  be  represented  as  changed  from 
prosperity  to  adversity ;  for  this  is  neither  a  subject  of 
terror  nor  commiseration,  but  is  impious.     Nor  must 
depraved  characters   be   represented  as  changed  from 
adverse  to  prosperous  fortune  ;    for  this   is  the  most 
foreign  from  tragedy  of  all  things,  since  it  possesses 
nothing  which  is  proper  j  for  it  k  neither  philanthropic. 


* 


310 


THE    POETIC. 


CHAP.  xni. 


nor  commiserable,   nor  dreadful.      Nor  again  must  a 
very  depraved  man  be  represented  as  having  fallen  from 
prosperity  into  adversity.     For  such  a  composition  will 
indeed  possess  the  philanthropic,  but  will  neither  excite 
pity  or  fear.     For  ^he  one  is  conversant  with  a  character 
which  does  not  deserve  to  be  unfortunate ;  but  the  other, 
with   a  character  similar   [to  most  of  the  spectators.] 
And  pity,   indeed,   is  excited   for   one  who   does   not 
deserve  to  be  unfortunate;  but  fear,  for  one  who  re- 
sembles [the  multitude  ;]  so  that  the  event  will  neither 
appear  to  be  commiserable,   nor  terrible.     It  remains, 
therefore,  that  the  man  who  exists  between  these  must 
be  represented.     But  a  character  of  this  kind  is  one, 
who  neither  excels  in  virtue  and  justice,  nor  is  changed 
through  vice  and  depravity,  into  misfortune,  from  being 
a  man  of  great  renown  and  prosperity,  but  has  expe- 
rienced this  mutation  through  a  certain  [human]  erro- 
neous conduct ;  such  as  GEdipus  and  Thyestes,  and  other 
illustrious  men  of  this  kind.     Hence,  it  is  necessary  that 
a  fable  which  is  well  composed,  should  be  rather  simple 
than  twofold,   (though  some  say  it  should  be  the  latter,) 
and  that  the  persons  which  are  the  subjects  of  it  should 
not  be  changed  into  prosperity  from  adversity,  but  on 
the  contrary  into  adversity  from  prosperity,  not  through 
depravity,  but  through  some  great  error,  and  that  they 
should  be  such  persons  as  we  have  mentioned,  or  better 
rather  than  worse  than  these.     But  the  truth  of  this  is 
indicated  by  that  which  has  taken  place.     For  ancient 
poets   adopted  any   casual  fables ;    but  now   the  most 
beautiful  tragedies  are  composed  about  a  few  families; 
as  for  instance,  about  Alcmason,  OEdipus,  Orestes,  Me- 
leager,  Thyestes  and  Telephus,  and  such  other  persons 
as  happen  either  to  have  suffered  or  perpetrated  things 


CHAP.  XIH. 


THE    POETIC. 


311 


of  a  dreadful  nature.  The  tragedy,  therefore,  which  is 
most  beautiful  according  to  art,  has  this  composition. 
Hence,  Euripides  is  erroneously  blamed  by  those,  who 
accuse  him  of  having  done  this  in  his  tragedies,  and  for 
making  many  of  them  terminate  in  misfortune.  For 
tliis  method,  as  we  have  said,  is  right ;  of  which  this  is 
the  greatest  indication,  that  in  the  scenes,  and  contests 
of  the  players,  simple  fables  which  terminate  unhappily, 
appear  to  be  most  tragical,  if  they  are  properly  acted. 
And  Euripides,  though  he  does  not  manage  other  things 
well,  yet  appears  to  be  the  most  tragic  of  poets.  The 
fable,  however,  ranks  in  the  second  place,  though  by 
some  it  is  said  to  be  the  first  composition,  which  is  of  a 
twofold  nature,  such  as  the  Odyssey,  and  which  termi- 
nates in  a  contrary  fortune,  both  in  the  better  and  worse 
characters  [which  it  exhibits.]  It  appears,  however,  to 
rank  in  the  first  place,  through  the  imbecility  of  the 
spectators.  For  the  poets  [by  whom  it  is  composed] 
accommodate  themselves  to  the  spectators,  and  compos©* 
fables  conformable  to  their  wishes.  This  pleasure,  how- 
ever, is  not  [properly]  derived  from  tragedy,  but  is 
rather  adapted  to  comedy.  For  these,  though  the  per- 
sons  in  the  fable  are  most  hostile  to  each  other,  as  Orestes 
and  iEgisthus,  yet  in  the  end  they  depart  friends,  and 

one  of  them  does  not  die  through  the  other.  , 

■i 


312 


THE   POETIC. 


CHAP.  XIV. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


Terror  and  pity,  therefore,  may  be  produced  from 
the  sight.     But  they  may  also  be  excited  from  the  con- 
dition itself  of  the  things,  [i.e.  from  the  combination  of 
the  incidents,]  which  is  a  more  excellent  way,  and  the 
province  of  a  better  poet.     For  it  is  necessary  that  the 
fable  should  be  so  composed  without  any  scenic  repre- 
sentation,  that  he  who  hears  the  things  which  are  trans- 
acted, may  be  seized  with  horror,  and  feel  pity,  from 
the  events  ;  and  in  this  manner  he  who  hears  the  fable 
of  (Edipus  is  affected.     But  to  effect  this  through  scenic 
representation   is   more   inartificial,  and  requires  great 
expence.    Those,  however,  who  produce  not  the  terrible, 
but  the  monstrous  alone,  through  scenic  representation' 
have  nothing  in  common  with  tragedy.     For  it  is  not 
proper  to  seek  for  every  kind  of  pleasure  from  tragedy, 
but  for  that  which  is  appropriate.     Since,  however,  it  is 
necessary  that  the  poet  should  procure  pleasure  from 
pity  and  fear  through  imitation,  it  is  evident  that  this 
must  be  effected  [in  the  representation  of  things  of  a 
terrible  and  commiserable  nature.]     We  must  explain 
therefore,  what  kind  of  events  appear  to  be  dreadful  or 
lamentable.     But  it  is  necessary  that  actions  of  this  kind 
should  either  be  those  of  friends  towards  each  other,  or 
of  enemies,  or  of  neither.     If,  therefore,  an  enemy  kills 
an  enemy,  he  does  not  exhibit  any  thing  which  is  an 


CHAP.  XIV. 


THE    POETIC. 


318 


object  of  pity,  neither  while  he  kills  him,  nor  when  he 
is  about  to  kill  him,  except  the  evil  which  he  who  is 
slain  suffers.     And  this  will  be  the  case,  when  one  of 
those  who  are  neither  friends  nor  enemies  kills  the  other. 
But  when  these  things  happen  in  friendships,  as  when  a 
brother  kills  a  brother,  or  a  son  his  father,  or  a  mother 
her  son,  or  a  son  his  mother,  or  intends  to  do  it,  or  does 
any  thing  else  of  the  like  kind,  it  is  not  only  a  lamentable 
circumstance  on  account  of  the  evil  which  is  suffered, 
but  also  because  it  is  inflicted  by  one  by  whom  it  ought  not 
-to  be  inflicted.     Fables,  therefore,  which  have  been  re- 
ceived [from  the  ancients]  are  not  to  be  dissolved  [i.  e. 
destroyed.]     I  mean,  for  instance,  such  as  the  fable  of 
Clytemnestra  slain  by  Orestes,  and  of  Eriphile  slain  by 
Alcmaeon.   But  it  is  necessary  that  the  poet  should  invent 
the  fable,  and  use  in  a  becoming  manner  those  fables 
which  are  delivered  [to  him  by  tradition.]     What,  how- 
ever, we  mean  by  using  fables  in  a  becoming  manner, 
we  will  explain  more  clearly ;   for  the  action  may  take 
place  in  such  a  way  as  the  ancients  have  represented  it, 
viz.  accompanied  with  knowledge ;  as  Euripides  repre- 
sents Medea  killing  her  children.     An  action  may  also 
be  done,  by  those  who  are  ignorant  of   its   dreadful 
nature,  and  who  afterwards  recognize   the   friendship 
[which  they  have  violated,]  as  in  the  CEdipus  of  Sopho- 
cles.    This,  therefore,  is  external  to  the  drama.     But  it 
may  also  be  introduced  into  the  tragedy  itself ;  as  in  the 
Alcmseon   of   Astydamas,   or   Telegonus   [the   son  of 
Ulysses  by  Circe,]  in  the  Ulysses  Wounded.     Farther 
still,  besides  these  there  is  a  third  mode,  when  some  one 
is  about  to  perpetrate  through  ignorance  an  atrocious 
deed,  but  recognizes  that  it  is  so  before  he  does  it.    And 
besides  these,  there  is  no  other  mode.    For  it  is  necessary 


514 


THE   POETIC. 


CHAP*  XIV, 


to  act,  or  not ;  and  knowingly,  or  not  knowingly.     But 
of  these,  to  intend  to  perpetrate  the  deed  knowingly, 
and  not  to  perpetrate  it,  is  the  worst ;  for  it  is  wicked 
and  not  tragical ;  because  it  is  void  of  pathos.     Hence, 
no   poet   introduces   a  character   of   this   kind   except 
rarely;  as  in  the  Antigone  [of  Sophocles,]  in  which 
Hsemon  [endeavours  to  kill  his  father]  Creon,  [but  does 
not  effect  his  purpose.]     For  the  action  here  ranks  in 
the  second  place.     But  it  is  better  to  perpetrate  the  deed 
ignorantly,  and  having  perpetrated  to  recognize    [the 
enormity  of  it ;]  for  then  it  is  not  attended  with  wicked- 
ness,  and  the  recognition  excites  horror.    The  last  mode, 
however,  is  the  best ;   I  mean,  as  in  the  Cresphontes  [of 
Euripides,]  in  which  Merope  is  about  to  kill  her  son, 
but  does  not  in  consequence  of  recognizing  that  he  was 
her  son.     Thus  too,  in  the  Iphigenia  in  Tauris  [of  Euri- 
pides,]  in  which  the  sister  is  going  to  kill  the  brother, 
[but  recognizes  him;]  and  in  the  tragedy  called  Helle, 
the  son  is  about  to  slay  his  mother,'  but  is  prevented  by 
recognizing  her.     Hence,  as  we  have  formerly  observed, 
tragedies  are  not  conversant  with  many  families;  for 
poets  were  enabled  to  discover  a  thing  of  this  kind  in 
fables,  not  from  art,  but  from  fortune.    They  were  com- 
pelled,  therefore,  to  direct  their  attention  to  those  fami- 
lies, in  which  calamities  of  this  kind  happened. 

And  thus  we  have  spoken  sufficiently  concerning  the 
composition  of  things,  [i.  e.  the  combination  of  the  inci- 
dents]  and  have  shown  what  kind  of  fables  ought  to  be 
employed. 


CHAP.  XV. 


THE    POETIC. 


315 


CHAPTER  XV. 


With  respect  to  manners,  however,  there  are  four 
things  to  which  the  attention  ought  to  be  directed  ;   one, 
indeed,  and  the  first,  that  the  manners  may  be  such  as 
are  worthy.     But  the  tragedy  will  indeed  possess  man- 
ners, if,  as  we  have  said,  the  words  or  the  action  render 
any  deliberate  intention  apparent ;   containing  depraved 
manners,  if  the  deliberate  intention  is  depraved  ;   but 
worthy  manners,    if   the   deliberate  intention  is   good. 
But  manners  are  to  be  found  in  each  genus ;  for  both  a 
woman  and  a  man  servant  may  be  good  ;  though  perhaps 
of  these,  the  one  [i.  e.  the  woman]  is  more  imperfectly 
good  [than  the  man,]  and  the  other  is  [generally  speak- 
ing]  wholly  bad.     In   the  second  place,   the  manners 
must  be  adapted  to  the  persons.     For  there  are  manners 
which  are  characterized  by  fortitude,  but  it  is  not  adapted 
to  a  woman  to  be  either  brave  or  terrible.     In  the  third 
place,  the  manners  must  be  similar.     Foi:  this,  as  we 
have  before  observed,  differs  from  making  the  manners 
to  be  worthy  and  adapted.     In  the  fourth  place,  they 
must  be  uniform  ;  for  if  he  is  anomalous,  who  exhibits 
the  imitation,  and  expresses  such-like  manners,  at  the 
same  time  it  is  necessary  that  he  should  be  uniformly 
unequal.     The  example,  however,  of  depraved  manners 
is  indeed  not  necessary ;  such  for  instance   as  that  of 


316 


THE    POETIC. 


CHAP.  XV. 


Menelaus  in  the  Orestes  [of  Euripides ;]  but  an  exam- 
ple of  unbecoming  and  unappropriate  manners  is,  the 
lamentation  of  Ulysses  in  the  tragedy  of  Scylla,  and  the 
speech  of  Menalippe  [in  Euripides ;]  and  the  example 
of  anomalous  manners,   in  the  Iphigenia  in  Aulis  [of 
Euripides].     For  Iphigenia  supplicating  does  not  at  all 
resemble  the  Iphigenia  in  the  latter  part  of  the  tragedy. 
It  is  requisite,  however,  in  the  manners,  as  well  as  in  the 
combination  of  the  incidents,  always  to  investigate,  either 
the  necessary,  or  the  probable ;  so  that  such  a  person 
should  say  or  do  such  things,  either  necessarily,  or  pro- 
bably ;   and  that  it  be  necessary  or  probable,  that  this 
thing  should  be  done  after  that.    It  is  evident,  therefore, 
that  the  solutions  of  fables  ought  to  happen  from  the 
fable  itself,  and  not  as  in  the  Medea  of  Euripides  from 
the  machinery,  and  in  the  tragedy  called  the  Iliad,  from 
the  particulars  respecting  the  return  of  the  Greeks  to 
their  country.     But  machinery  must   be  employed   in 
things  which  are  external  to  the  drama,  which  either 
happened  before,  and  which  it  is  not  possible  for  men  to 
know,  or  which  happened  afterwards,  and  require  to  be 
previously  proclaimed  and  announced.     For  we  ascribe 
to  the  gods  the  power  of  seeing  all  things,  but  we  do 
not  admit  the  introduction  of  any  thing  absurd  in  the 
fable  ;  since,  if  it  is  introduced,  care  must  be  taken  that 
it  is  external  to  the  tragedy  ;  as  in  the  CEdipus  of  Sopho- 
cles.     Since,  however,  tragedy  is  an  imitation  of  better 
things,  it  is  necessary  that  we  should  imitate  good  paint- 
ers.    For  these,  in  giving  an  appropriate  form  to  the 
image,  preserve  the  similitude  and  increase  the  beautf. 
Thus,  also,  it  is  requisite  that  the  poet  in  imitating  the 
wrathful  and  the  indolent,  and  those  who  are  similarly 
affected  in  their  manners,  should  form  an  example  of 


CHAP.  XVI. 


THE    POETIC. 


317 


equity,  or  asperity ;  such  as  Agatho  and  Homer  have 
represented  Achilles.  These  things,  indeed,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  observe  ;  and  besides  these,  we  should  pay  atten- 
tion to  such  particulars  as  are  consequent  from  necessity 
to  the  scenic  representation.  For  in  these,  errors  are 
frequently  committed.  But  concerning  these  things,  we 
have  elsewhere  sufficiently  spoken. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


What  recognition,  however,  is,  we  have  before 
shown.  But  with  respect  to  the  species  of  recognition, 
the  first  indeed  is  the  most  inartificial,  is  that  which  most 
pQets  use  through  ignorance,  and  is  effected  through  in- 
dications. But  of  these,  some  are  congenial,  such  as  the 
lance  with  which  the  earth-born  race  [at  Thebes]  were 
marked,  or  the  stars  on  the  bodies  of  the  sons  of  Thy- 
estes  in  the  tragedy  of  Carcinus.  Other  indications, 
however,  are  adventitious.  And  of  these,  some  are  in 
the  body,  as  scars  ;  but  others  are  external,  such  as  neck- 
laces ;  and  such  as  the  indication  through  a  small  boat, 
in  the  tragedy  of  Tyro.  These  signs  also  may  be  used 
in  a  better  or  worse  manner.  Thus  Ulysses,  through  his 
scar,  is  in  one  way  known  by  his  nurse,  and  in  another 
by  the  swineherds.    For  the  recognitions  which  are  for 


318 


THE    POETIC, 


CHAP.  XVI. 


the  sake  of  credibility,  are  more  inartificial,   and  all  of 
them  are  of  this  kind ;  but  those  which  are   from  peri- 
petia, such  as  were  made  [by  Euryclea]  in  washing  the 
feet  of  Ulysses,  are  better.     And  those  recognitions  rank 
in  the  second  place,  which  are  made  by  the  poet,  on 
which  account  they  are  not  inartificial.     Thus   Orestes 
in  the  Iphigenia  [in  Tauris  of  Euripides,]  recognizes  his 
sister,  and  is  recognized  by  her.     For  she  indeed  recog- 
nizes her  brother  through  a  letter,  but  he  recognizes  her 
through  indications.     Orestes,  therefore,  says  what  the 
poet  pleases,  but  not  what  the  fable  requires ;  on  which 
account  it  is  near  to  the  above-mentioned  error  ;    since 
,  other  things  might  have  been  equally  well  said.     Thus 
too  in  the  Tereus  of  Sophocles,  the  voice  of  the  shuttle 
produced  a  recognition. '     But  the  third  mode  of  recog- 
nition is  through  memory,  from  the  sensible   perception 
of  something,   as  in  the  Cyprii  of  Dic^ogenes ;  for  on 
seeing  the  picture  a  certain  person  weeps.    And  in  the 
narration  at  the  court  of  Alcinous ;  for  Ulysses  on  hear- 
ing the  lyrist  [singing  the  fortunes  of  the  Greeks  at 
Troy,]  and  recollecting  [the  story,]  weeps;  whence  also 
he  is  recognized  [by  Alcinous,]     The  fourth  mode  of 
recognition  is  derived  from  syllogism,  as  in  the  Coephori 
[of  iEschylus]— a  similar  person  is  arrived— there  is  no 
similar  person  but  ^stes,— flg^stes,  therefore,   is   ar- 
rived.     Thus  too  in  the  Iphigenia  of  Polyides  the  so- 
phist.    For  it  was  probable  that  Orestes  would  syllo- 
gistically  conclude,  that  because  his  sister  had  been  im- 
molated,  it  would  likewise  happen  to  him  to  be  sacrificed. 
Thus  also  in  the  Tydeus  of  Theodectes,  [a  certain  per- 

'  i.  e.  Perhaps,  tlie  sound  made  by  the  shuttle  as  Philomela  was 
weaving  occasioned  her  to  be  recognized. 


CHAP.  XVI. 


THE    POETIC. 


319 


son  coming  for  the  purpose  of  finding  his  son,  says] 
**  I  came  to  discover  my  son,  and  I  shall  be  put  to 
death."  Another  example  also  is  in  the  Phinida?.  For 
the  women,  on  seeing  the  place,  syllogistically  inferred 
what  their  fate  would  be,  viz.  that  they  should  perish  in 
this  place  ;  for  they  were  exposed  in  it  from  their  in- 
fancy.  There  is  also  a  certain  recognition,  which  is  pro- 
duced from  the  paralogism  of  the  theatre  ;  [i.  e.  of  the 
spectator]  as  in  the  Ulysses  Pseudangelus.  For  the 
one  person  says,  he  should  know  the  bow,  which  he  had 
not  seen ;  but  the  other,  as  if  he  must  be  known  through 
this,  on  this  account  paralogizes.  '  The  best  recogni- 
tion, however,  of  all,  is  that  which  arises  from  the  things 
themselves,  astonishment  being  excited  through  pro- 
bable circumstances ;  as  in  the  CEdipus  of  Sophocles 
and  the  tragedy  of  Iphigenia  ;  (for  it  is  probable  that 
she  would  be  willing  to  send  letters)  since  such  things 
alone  are  without  fictitious  signs  and  necklaces.  But 
the  recognitions  which  rank  in  the  second  place,  are 
those  which  are  derived  from  syllogism. 


.  >  Perhaps  the  fable  of  this  tragedy  was  composed  as  follows : 
Penelope,  conceiving  that  Ulysses  still  lived,  was  unwilling  to  marry 
any  one  of  the  suitors  ;  but  a  false  messenger  respecting  the  death 
of  Ulysses  is  introduced  to  Anticlea  the  mother  of  Ulysses  by  the 
suitors.  This  false  messenger  pretends  that  he  had  formerly  at- 
tended Ulysses  at  the  Trojan  war,  and  affirms  that  Ulysses  is  dead. 
To  prove,  likewise,  that  what  he  says  is  true,  he  adds,  that  he 
could  distinguish  the  bow  of  Ulysses  from  ten  thousand  other  bows. 
A  great  quantity  of  bows  are  then  placed  before  him,  among  which 
is  the  bow  of  Ulysses,  which  he  knows  through  a  sign  perhaps 
which  had  been  taught  him  by  the  suitors.  In  consequence  of  this, 
Anticlea  thus  paralogizes :  This  man  knew  the  bow ;  he  could 
not  have  known  it  unless  he  had  been  with  Ulysses ;  this  person, 
therefore,  has  attended  Ulysses,  and  is  a  true  messenger  of  his 


320 


TH£    POETIC. 


CHAP.  XVII. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


It  is  necessary,  however,  that  the  poet  should  com- 
pose fables,  and  elaborate  his  diction,  so  as  that  he  may 
especially  place  the  thing  before  the  eyes  of  the  specta- 
tor. For  thus  the  poet  perceiving  most  acutely,  as  if 
present  with  the  transactions  themselves,  will  discover 
what  is  becoming,  and  whatever  is  repugnant  will  in  the 
smallest  degree  be  concealed  from  his  view.  An  indica- 
tion of  this  is  the  fault  with  which  Carcinus  is  reproach- 
ed. For  Amphiaraus  departs  from  the  temple,  which  is 
concealed  from  the  spectator,  who  does  not  perceive  it. 
But  this  is  wanting  in  the  representation,  and  the  spec- 
tators are  on  this  account  indignant.  For  the  poet  as 
much  as  possible  should  co-operate  with  the  scenery; 
since  those  are  naturally  most  adapted  to  persuade  who 
are  themselves  under  the  influence  of  passion.  Hence, 
also,  he  agitates  others  who  is  himself  agitated,  and  he 
excites  others  to  anger  who  is  himself  most  truly  en- 
raged.  Hence,  poetry  is  the  province  either  of  one  who  is 
naturally  ingenious,  or  of  one  who  is  insane.  For  of 
these  characters,  the  one  is  easily  fashioned,  but  the  other 
is  prone  to  ecstasy.     It  is  likewise  necessary  that  the  poet 

death.    Then,  becoming  desperate  through  grief,  she  destroys  her- 
self: 


y 


CHAP.  XVII. 


THE    POBTIC. 


321 


should  universally  exhibit  the  fables  composed  by  others, 
and  those  which  he  composes  himself,  and  afterwards 
introduce  and  insert  episodes.     But  I  say  that  he  should 
in  this  manner  direct  his  attention  to  what  is  universal. 
Thus  for  instance  in  the  Iphigenia  [in  Tauris  of  £uri* 
pides,]  a  certain  virgin  being  led  to  the  altar  that  she 
might  be  sacrificed,  and  vanishing  from  the  view  of  those 
who  were  to  sacrifice  her,  and  being  brought  to  another 
country  in  which  it  was  a  law  to  sacrifice  strangers  to 
a  certain  goddess,  she  is  made  the  priestess  of  these  rites. 
Some  time  after,  it  happened  that  the  brother  of  the 
priestess  came  to  this  place ;   but  on  what  account  ?  Be- 
cause some  god  had  ordered  him,  for  a  certain  reason 
which  does  not  pertain  to  the  universal  [composition  of 
the  tragedy,]  to  come  thither,  but  why  he  did  so  is  fo- 
reign to  the  fable.     The  brother,   therefore,  coming, 
and  being  made  captive,  is  recognized  by  his  sister,  when 
he  is  going  to  be  sacrificed  ;  whether  as  Euripides  says 
[by  an  epistle,]  or  as  Polyides  feigns,  speaking  accord- 
ing to  probability,  because  he  said,  it  was  not  only  requi- 
site that  the  sister,  but  that  he  also  should  be  sacrificed : 
— and  hence  safety  arises.     After  these  things  the  poet 
having   given  names  to  the  persons  should  insert  the 
episodes ;    and  he  must  be   careful  that   the  episodes 
are  appropriate.     Thus  the  insanity  through  which  Ores- 
tes was  taken  captive,  and  his  being  saved  through  expia- 
tion, are  appropriate.     In   dramas,  therefore,   the   epi- 
sodes are  short,  but  by  these  the  epopee  is  lengthened. 
For  the  fable  of  the  Odyssey  is  short,  viz.  the  fable  of  a 
certain  person  wandering  for  many  years  by  himself,  and 
with  Neptune  for  his  foe.    And  besides  this,  his  domestic 
affairs  being  so  circumstanced,  that  his  wealth  is  con- 
sumed by  suitors,  and  stratagems  are  formed  against  the 
ArhU  VOL.  I.  X 


322 


THE    POETIC. 


CHAP,  xviir* 


life  of  his  son.  But  at  length,  driven  by  a  tempest,  he 
lands  on  his  own  coast,  and  recognizing  certain  persons, 
he  attacks  the  suitors,  and  is  himself  saved,  but  destroys 
his  enemies.  This,  therefore,  is  the  peculiarity  of  the 
fable,  but  the  rest  is  episode. 


rr 


CHAPTER    XVUL 


In  every  tragedy,  however,  there  is  a  bond  [or  plot^ 
and  a  solution  of  it.  And  external  circumstances  in- 
deed, and  some  of  those  that  are  internal,  frequently 
form  the  bond  ;  but  the  rest  form  the  solution.  I  call, 
however,  the  bond,  the  whole  of  that  which  extends 
from  the  beginning  to  the  part  which  is  last,  from 
which  there  is  a  transition  to  good  fortune  ;  but  I  deno- 
minate the  solution  that  part  which  extends  from  the  be- 
ginning of  the  mutation  to  the  end.  Thus  in  the  Lyn- 
ceus  of  Theodectes,  the  past  transactions,  and  the  capture 
of  the  son,  are  the  bond  ;  but  the  part  which  extends 
from  the  charge  of  murder  to  the  end,  is  the  solution. 
But  of  tragedy,  there  are  four  species ;  for  so  many  parts 
of  it  have  also  been  enumerated.  And  one  species  in* 
deed  is  complex,  of  which  the  whole  is  peripetia  and  re- 
cognition. But  another  species  is  pathetic  ;  such  as  the 
tragedies  of  Ajax  and  Ixion.  A  third  species  is  ethical ; 
such  as  the  Phthiotides  and  the  Peleus.    But  the  fourth 


CHAP.  XVIII, 


'  .THE  POETIC. 


S2S 


species  is  such  as  the  PhorcideS  [of  JEschylus]  and  the 
Prometheus,  and  the  tragedies  which  represent  what 
passes  in  Hades.  It  is  especially  necessary,  therefore, 
that  the  poet  should,  endeavour  to  have  all  these  species  ; 
or  at  least  that  he  should  have  the  greatest  and  most  of 
them,  especially  since  men  of  the  present  age  calumniate 
the  poets.  For  as  there  have  been  good  poets  in  each 
part  of  tragedy,  men  of  the  present  times  require  one  poet 
to  excel  in  all  the  parts.  But  it  is  just  to  call  tragedy  dif- 
ferent and  the  same,  though  not  perhaps  with  any  refe- 
rence to  the  fable.  Those  tragedies,  however,  ought 
rather  to  be  called  the  same,  of  which  there  is  the  same 
plot  and  solution.  But  many  poets  connect  the  fable 
well,  and  solve  it  badly.  It  is  necessary,  however,  al- 
ways to  labour  to  effect  both  these,  and  not  to  make  tra- 
gedy an  epic  system.  But  I  call  that  tragedy  an  epic 
system,  which  consists  of  many  fables  ;  as  if  some  one 
should  compose  a  tragedy  from  the  whole  fable  of  the 
Iliad.  For  in  the  Iliad,  on  account  of  its  length,  the 
parts  receive  an  appropriate  magnitude.  But  in  dramas, 
the  effect  produced  would  be  entirely  contrary  to  expec- 
tation. The  truth  of  this  is  indicated  by  such  as  have 
represented  [in  one  tragedy]  the  whole  destruction  of 
Troy,  and  not  some  part  of  it,  as  the  Niobe  or  Medea  of 
Euripides,  and  who  have  not  acted  like  JEschylus;  for 
these  have  either  failed  of  their  purpose,  or  have  con- 
tended badly ; .  since  Agatho  also  failed  m  this  alone. 
But  in  peripetiac,  and  in  simple  actions,  such  poets  have 
admirably  effected  their  purpose.  For  this  is  tragical 
and  philanthropic.  This,  however,  takes  place,  when  ^ 
wise  but  a  depraved  man,  such  as  Sisyphus,  is  deceived  ; 
and  a  brave  but  an  unjust  man  is  vanquished.  But  this 
is  probable,  as  Agatho  says.    For  it  is  probable  that 


324 


THE    POETIC. 


CHAP.  XIX. 


many  things  may  take  place  contrary  to  probability.  It 
is  necessary  likewise  to  conceive  the  chorus  to  be  one 
of  the  players  and  a  part  of  the  whole,  and  that  it  co- 
operates with  the  players,  not  as  in  Euripides,  but  as  in 
Sophocles.  But  with  other  tragedians,  the  part  assign- 
ed to  the  chorus  does  not  more  belong  to  that  fable,  than 
to  any  other  tragedy ;  on  which  account  the  chorus  sing 
embolima  [or  songs  inserted  in  the  fable,]  of  which  Aga- 
tho  was  the  inventor.  What  difference,  however,  does 
it  make,  to  sing  embolima,  or  to  adapt  the  dicdon  of  one 
drama  to  another,  or  the  whole  episode  ? 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


Wfi  have^  therefore,  now  discussed  the  other  parts  of 
tragedy.  And  it  remains  that  we  should  speak  concern- 
ing diction  and  dianoia  [i.  e.  the  discursive  energy  of 
reason.]  The  particulars,  therefore,  respecting  dianoia 
are  unfolded  in  the  treatise  On  Rhetoric.  For  the  dis- 
cussion of  it  is  more  the  province  of  that  treatise.  But 
those  things  pertain  to  dianoia,  which  it  is  requisite  to 
procure  by  a  reasoning  process.  And  the  parts  of  these 
are,  to  demonstrate,  to  solve,  and  to  excite  the  passions ; 
such  as  pity,  or  fi^ur,  or  ai^er,  and  the  like ;  and  beddes 
dlQsej^o  ampfify  and  extenuate.    It  is  evident,  however, 


I 


CHAP.  XIX. 


THl    POETIC. 


325 


that  in  things,  also,  it  is  requisite  to  derive  what  is  useful 
from  the  same  forms,  when  it  is  necessary  to  procure  ob- 
jects of  pity,  or  things  of  a  dreadful,  or  great,  or  proba- 
ble nature.     Except  that  there  is  this  difference,  that 
things  in  tragedy  ought  to  be  rendered  apparent  without 
teaching,  but  in  an  oration  they  are  to  be  procured  by 
the  orator,  and  produced  through  the  oration.    For  what 
employment  would  there  be  for  the  orator,  if  the  things 
should  appear  of  themselves  pleasing,  and  not  through 
the  oration  ?  But  of  things  pertaining  to  diction,  there  is 
one  species  of  theory  respecting  the  forms  of  it,  which  it 
is  the  province  of  the  player  to  know,  and  of  him  who  is 
a  master  artist  in  a  thing  of  this  kind.     Thus,  for  in- 
stance, it  is  requisite  he  should  know,  what  a  mandate  is, 
what  a  prayer,  narration,  threats,  interrogation  and  an- 
swer are,  and  whatever  else  there  may  be  of  this  kind. 
For  from  the  knowledge  or  ignorance  of  these,  the  poe- 
tic  art  incurs  no  blame  of  any  moment.     For  who  would 
think  that  Homer   errs  in  what  he  is  reproved  for  by 
Protagoras  ?  viz.  That  while  he  fancies  he  prays,  he  com- 
mands, when  he  says. 

The  wrath  of  Peleus'  son,  O  goddess,  sing. 

For,  says  he,  to  order  a  thing  to  be  done,  or  not  to  be 
done,  is  a  mandate.  Hence,  this  must  be  omitted  as  a 
theorem  pertainmg  to  another  art,  and  not  to  poetry. 


326 


THE    POETIC/ 


CHAP.  XX. 


CHAPTER   XX. 


Of  all  diction,  however,  the  following  are  the  parts ; 
viz.  element,  [or  letter]  syllable,  conjunction,  noun, 
verb,  article,  case,  and  sentence.  Element,  therefore, 
indeed,  is  an  indivisible  vocal  sound  ;  yet  not  every  such 
sound,  but  that  from  which  an  intelligible  vocal  sound 
is  adapted  to  be  produced.  For  there  are  indivisible 
vocal  sounds  of  brutes,  no  one  of  which  I  call  an  element 
of  diction.  But  the  parts  of  this  indivisible  sound  are, 
vowel,  semivowel,  and  mute.  And  a  vowel,  indeed^  is 
that  which  has  an  audible  sound,  without  the  concur- 
rence of  another  sound  ;  such  as  a  and  o*  But  a  semi- 
vowel is  that  which  has  an  audible  sound,  vdth  the  con- 
currence of  another  sound  ;  as  s  and  r.  And  a  mute  is 
that  which,  ^ven  with  the  concurrence  of  the  tongue,  has 
of  itself,  indeed,  no  sound,  but  becomes  audible  in  con- 
junction with  things  which  have  a  certain  sound;  as  g 
and  d.  But  these  differ  by  the  forms  of  the  mouth,  by 
places, '  by  density  and  tenuity  of  aspiration,  by  length 
and  shortness  ;  and  farther  still,  they  diflfer  by  acuteness 
and  gravity,  and  by  a  medium  between  both  these  ;  the 
theory  respecting  each  of  which  pertains  to  the  metrical 

'  i.  f .  The  dljBTerent  organs  of  speech,  from  which  letters  are  de- 
nominated nasal,  dental,  labial,  &c. 


CHAP.  XX. 


THE    POETIC. 


327 


art.     But  a  syllable  is  a  sound  void  of  signification,  com- 
posed from  a  mute,  and  an  element  which  has  sound, 
[i.  e.  from  a  vowel,  or  semivowel]     For  g  r  without  a 
is  a  syllable, '  and  also  with  a,  as  §*  r  a.  The  speculation, 
however,  of  the  differences  of  these,  pertains  also  to  the 
metrical  art.     But  a  conjunction  is  a  sound  void  of  sig- 
nification, which  neither  impedes  nor  produces  one  sig- 
nificant  sound  adapted  tt)  be  composed  from  many  sounds, 
and  which  may  be  placed  either  at  the  beginning  or  the 
end  of  the   period,  unless   something   requires   that  it 
should  be  placed  by  itself  at  the  beginning  ;  such  as  p^ev, 
7JT0/,   Stj.     Or  it  is  a  sound  non-significant,   composed 
from  more  sounds  than  one,  but  naturally  adapted   to 
produce  one  significant   sound.     An  article  is  a  sound 
void  of  signification,  which  shows  the  beginning  or  end^ 
or  distinction  of  a  word  •, '  as  to  (^r^ixi,  and  to  re^j,  and 
others  of  the  like  kind.     Or  it  is  a  sound  void  of  signifi- 
cation, which  neither  impedes  nor  produces  one  signifi- 
cant  sound  naturally  adapted  to  be  composed  from  many 
sounds,  both  in  the  extremes  and  in  the  middle.     But  a 
noun  is  a  composite  sound,  significant  without  time,  of 
which  no  part  is  of  itself  significant.     For  in  double 
[or   composite]  nouns,  we  do  not  use  the  parts  as   of 
themselves  significant.      Thus  in  the   word   ^solaypos, 
Theodorus,  [though  theos  signifies  God  and  dor  on  a 

.  G  r  is  an  instance  of  a  syllable  composed  of  a  mute  and  a  semi- 
vowel ;  and  ^  r  fl  of  a  syllable  composed  of  a  mute,  a  vowel,  and  a 

semivowel. 

»  This  description  is  most  obscure  ;  but  the  sense  seems  to  be, 
that  an  article  is  a  sound  which  of  itself  does  not  signify  any  thmg 
definite,  but  merely  serves  to  indicate  a  significant  sound,  before  or 
after  which  it  is  placed,  or  which  it  distinguishes  from  other 
words. 


328 


THE  POETIC, 


CHAP.  XX* 


gift,]  yet  doron  signifies  nothing.  A  verb  is  a  compo- 
site  sound,  significant  with  time,  of  which  no  part  is  of 
itself  significant,  in  the  same  manner  also  as  in  nouns. 
For  man  or  white  does  not  signify  in  conjunction  with 
time ;  but  he  walks,  or  he  did  walk^  signify,  the  former 
indeed  the  present,  and  the  latter  the  past  time.  But 
case  pertains  to  noun  or  verb.  And  one  case,  indeed, 
pn  nouns]  signifies  that  something  is  said  of  this  thing, 
or  is  attributed  to  this  thing,  and  the  like  ;  but  another  is 
that  which  pertains  to  one  thing  or  many  things ;  as  men^ 
or  man.  And  another  case  pertains  to  action,  such  as 
what  relates  to  interrogation  or  demand.  For  did  he 
walk  ?  Or  walk  is  a  case  of  a  verb  according  to  these 
species.  And  a  sentence  is  a  composite  significant  sound, 
of  which  certain  parts  of  themselves  signify  something  ; 
for  not  every  sentence  is  composed  from  nouns  and 
verbs ;  (since  the  definition  of  man  [a  rational  mortal 
animal,]  is  a  sentence  without  a  verb)  but  there  may  be 
a  sentence  without  verbs.  A  sentence,  however,  will 
always  have  some  part  significant;  as  in  the  sentence 
Cleon  walksy  the  word  Cleon  is  significant.  But  a  sen. 
tence  is  one  in  a  twofold  respect ;  for  it  is  either  that 
which  signifies  one  thing,  or  that  which  becomes  one 
from  many  conjunctions.  Thus  the  Iliad,  indeed,  is  one 
by  conjunction ;  but  the  definition  of  man  is  one,  be. 
cause  it  signifies  one  thing. 


CHAP.  XXI. 


THE    POETIC. 


329 


CHAPTER  XXL 


With  respect  to  the  species  of  a  noun,  one  is  simple ; 
and  I  call  the  simple  noun  that  which  is  not  composed 
from  things  significant ;  but  another  is  twofold.     And 
this  either  consists  of  that  which  is  significant,   and  that 
which  is  without  signification,   or  of  words  which  are 
significant.     A  noun  also  may  be  triple  and  quadruple, 
as  Is  the  case  with  many  of  the  nouns  of  the  Megaliotse ; 
such  as  Hermocdicoxanthus.^  But  every  noun  is  either 
proper  or  foreign,  or  metaphorical,  or  ornamental,  or  in- 
vented  for  the  purpose,  or  protracted,  or  contracted,  or 
changed.     But  I  call  that  a  proper  name,  which  is  used 
by  every  one ;  and  that  a  foreign  name  which  is  used  by 
other  nations.     Hence,  it  is  evident  that  the  same  noun 
may  be  both  foreign  and  proper,  though  not  to  the  same 
people.     For  the  word  X^y^vW  is  proper  to  the  Cypri- 
ans, but  foreign  to  us.     But  a  metaphor  is  the  transposi- 
tion of  a  noun  to  a  signification  different  from  its  original 
import,  either  from  the  genus  to  the  species,  or  from  the 
species  to  the  genus;  or  from  species  to  species,  or  ac- 

«  This  Is  a  noun  composed  from  the  names  of  the  three  rivers 
Hermus,  Caicus,  and  Xanthus. 
*  A  dart  made  entirely  of  steel. 


830 


THE    POETIC. 


qpA^.  XXL 


cording  to  the  analogous,  I  call,  however,  a  transposi- 
tion from  genus  to  species,  such  as. 

There  stationed  is  my  ship.' 

For  to  be  moored  is  something  pertaining  to  the  being 
stationed.  But  a  transposition  from  species  to  genus  is 
8uch  as. 


•Ten  thousand  valiant  deeds 


Ulysses  has  achievM.* 

For  ten  thousand  is  a  great  number,  and  is  now  used  in- 
stead of  many.  And  a  transposition  from  species  to  spe- 
cies is  such  35,  - 


The  brazen  falchion  drew  away  his  life. 


And, 


Cut  by  the  ruthless  sword. 


For  here  to  draxo  wway^  is  used  instead  of  to  cut ;  and  to 
cut  is  used  instead  of  to  draw  wway  ;  since  both  imply  the 
taking  something  away.  But  I  call  a  transposition  ac- 
cording to  the  analogous,  when  the  relation  of  the  second 
term  to  the  first,  is  similar  to  that  of  the  fourth  to  the 
third  ;  for  then  the  fourth  is  used  instead  of  the  second, 
or  the  second  instead  of  the  fourth.  And  sometimes 
that  to  which  a  thing  is  related  is  added  instead  of  the 
thing  itself.  I  say,  for  instance,  a  cup  has  a  similar  rela- 
tion to  Bacchus,  that  a  shield  has  to  Mars.  Hence,  a 
shield  may  be  called  the  cup  of  Mars,  and  a  cup  the 
shield  of  Bacchus.  Again,  evening  has  a  similar  relation 
to  day,  that  old  age  has  to  life.     It  may  therefore  be  said 

'Odyss.lib.l.         *  Iliad,  lib.  2. 


CHAP.  XXI- 


THE    POETIC. 


331 


that  evening  is  the  old  age  of  day,  and  that  old  age  is  the 
evening  of  life ;  or  as  Empedocles  calls  it,  *'  The  setting 
of  life."  In  some  instances,  also,  where  there  is  no  ana- 
logous  name,  this  method  may  be  no  less  similarly  em- 
ployed.  Thus,  to  scatter  grain  is  to  sow  ;  but  there  is 
no  name  for  the  scattering  of  light  from  the  sun,  and  yet 
this  has  a  similar  relation  to  the  sun  that  sowing  has  to 
grain.     Hence,  it  is  said, 

Sowing  his  god-created  flame. 


This  mode  of  metaphor  may  likewise  be  used  differently, 
when,  calling   a  thing   by   a   foreign   name,  something 
belonging  to  it  is  denied  of  it ;  as  if  a  shield  should  be 
called  the  cup,  not  of  Mars,  but  without  wine.     But  a 
noun  invented  for  the  purpose,  is  that  in  short  which  not 
being  adopted  by  certain  persons,  is  introduced  by  the 
poet  himself.     For  it  appears  that  there  are  certain  nouns 
of  this  kind  ;  as  substituting  f^vwrai '  instead  of  xeparot 
for  horns,  and  calling  a  priest  apr^T^p,  instead  of  isps^^g. 
And  a  noun  is  protracted  or  contracted,  partly  by  using 
a  vowel  longer  than  the  proper  one,  or  by  inserting  a 
syllable ;  and  partly  by  taking  something  away,  either 
from  the  word  itself,  or  the  inserted  syllable.      A  pro- 
tracted  noun,  indeed,  is  such  as  ttoXt^o^  for  ttoXso^,^  and 
TTjXTjVaScco  for  7rr,A£*?o'j ;  and  such  as  npi,  and  So),^  are 
contracted  nouns  j  and, 

— ,,— -  The  sight  of  both  is  one. 


.  .5M,T-.  is  derived  from  e^vn,  which,  according  to  Hcsychius,  sig- 
nifies  buds  or  scions, 

*  For  x^l^yf,  ^AffitC, 

'  For  ^^J^<J. 


s^ 


THE   POETIC. 


CHAV.  xxr. 


And  a  noun  is  changed  when  part  of  it  is  left,  and  part 
is  invented  by  the  poet ;  as. 

In  the  right  breast.' 

Instead  of  Sfffioy.  Farther  still,  of  nouns  some  are  mas- 
culine, others  feminine,  and  others  between,  [or  neuter]. 
And  the  masculine,  indeed,  are  such  as  end  in  n  and  r, 
and  such  as  are  composed  from  mutes;  but  these  arc 
two,  \|/  and  |.  The  feminine  nouns  are  such  as  are 
composed  from  vowels,  and  always  end  in  long  voweb  • 
as,  for  instance,  in  >j  and  cw,  or  in  long  a.  Hence,  it 
happens  that  the  number  of  terminations  for  mascuKne 
and  feminine  are  equal ;  for  the  terminations  of  ^  and  | 
are  the  same.  No  noun,  however,  ends  in  a  mute,  or  in 
a  short  vowel ;  and  only  three  nouns  end  in  i,  viz.  ^t X/, 
xdfxfih  and  TrsTrtpt.  But  five  end  in  u ;  viz.  ^aiy,  vaxu, 
yovu,  8o/?y,  and  atrru.  And  the  neuter  nouns  end  in 
these,  and  in  y  and  $.* 

» Iliad,  lib.  5. 

*  The  whole  of  this  doctrine  pertains  rather  to  grammar  than  to 
philosophy  or  poetry,  and  is  very  mutilated  and  imperfect.  Hence, 
the  critics  suspect  that  the  text  is  greatly  corrupted. 


CHA^.  xxir. 


THE   POETIC. 


S3S 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


The  virtue  of  diction,  however,  consists  in  being  per- 
spicuous,  and  not  abject.     The  diction,  therefore,   is 
most  perspicuous,  which  is  composed  from  proper  nouns, 
but  then  it  will  be  abject.     But  an  example  of  thi^  is 
the  poetry  of  Cleophon  and  Sthenelus.     It  will,  how- 
ever, be  venerable,  and  remote  from  the  vulgar  idiom  by 
the  use  of  unusual  words.     But  I  call  unusual  words, 
such  words  as  are  foreign,  the  metaphorical,  the  length- 
ened,   and  every  word  except  the  proper  [name  of  a 
thing.]    If,  however,  language  wholly  consisted  of  such 
words  as  these,  it  would  be  either  an  enigma,  or  a  bar- 
barism.     If,  therefore,  it  were  composed  from  meta- 
phors,  it  would  be  an  enigma ;    but  if  from  foreign 
words,  a  barbarism.     For  the  idea  [i.  e.  the  definition] 
of  an  enigma  is  this,  the  conjoining  things  impossible 
with  the  inherent  properties  of  a  thing.      From  the 
composition,  therefore,  of  [proper]  names,  it  is  not  pos- 
sible  to  effect  this,  but  it  may  be  effected  by  a  metaphor ; 
as  "  I  saw  a  man  conglutinating  brass  to  a  man  with  fire ;" 
and  others  of  the  like  kind.     But  from  the  composition 
of  foreign  words  a  barbarism  is  produced.  Hence  language 
should  be  moderately  mingled  with  these.  Foreign,  there- 
fore,  metaphorical,  and  ornamented  words,  and  the  other  . 
species  that  have  been  mentioned,  cause  the  diction  nei-./ 
Cher  to  be  vulgar  nor  abject  j  but  proper  words  cause  it 


334 


THE   POETIC. 


CHAP.  XXIK 


to  be  perspicuous.  The  protracting,  however,  contract- 
ing, and  changing  of  names,  contribute  in  no  small 
degree  to  the  perspicuity  of  the  diction.  For  the  use  of 
words  in  a  way  different  from  their  proper  and  usual  sig- 
nification, causes  the  diction  to  be  not  vulgar ;  but  the 
adoption  of  words  in  their  accustomed  meaning,  renders 
it  perspicuous.  Hence  those  do  not  blame  rightly,  who 
reprobate  this  mode  of  speech,  and  like  the  ancient 
Euclid  ridicule  the  poet,  for  the  facility  with  which  verse 
might  be  composed,  if  the  quantity  of  syllables  might  be 
lengthened  at  pleasure,  making  iambics  even  in  commda 
discourse  ;  as 


Un  Xx^tf  n^0y  Mu^eidwtrct  /3et^t<^otTU» 


And, 


OVK  UV  ylVettli^^i   TCV   iKUVOf  f^    iXXt/ic^6V4 


It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  the  use  of  this  mode  of  dic- 
tion is  ridiculous.  But  measure  is  common  to  all  the 
parts  of  diction.  For  the  same  effect  would  be  produced 
by  the  improper  and  ridiculous  use  of  metaphors,  foreign 
words,  and  other  forms  of  diction.  But  we  may  see 
what  splendour  the  appropriate  use  of  them  gives  to  epic 
poetry,  by  putting  the  words  in  metre.  And  he  who 
transfers  proper  names  into  foreign  words,  into  meta- 
phors, and  the  other  forms,  will  see  that  what  we  have 
said  is  true.  Thus,  for  instance,  -/Eschylus  and  Euri- 
pides made  the  same  iambic  verse  ;  but  by  only  changing 
one  word,  from  its  proper  and  usual  to  a  foreign  signifi- 
cation, the  one  verse  appears  beautiful,  and  the  other 
mean.     For  ^schylus  indeed,  in  his  Philoctetes,  writes, 

A  cancerous  ulcer  feeds  upon  my  Ibot.^ 


CHAP.  XXII, 


THE    POETIC. 


335 


But  Euripides,  instead  of  go-flisi,  feeds,  uses  the  word 
fioivara/.    And,  [in  the  verse  of  Homer,  Odyss-  9.j 

by  Inserting  proper  [and  common]  words,  it  will  be. 


And, 


N«»  3fc  ^  tUf  ^IK^9(  Tl  XXi  xriiinKog  kxi  tcu^nq^^ 


Ai^oy  xUKiXiov  Kxrxdii^,  o^tyriP  ti  t^xtti^ocu 


And, 


H'/6«5  ficournf.     [Iliad,  17.] 


I  e.  If  instead  of  saying  the  shores  rehellou\  we  should 
say  the  shores  resounded.  Again,  Ariphrades  ridicules 
the  tragic  poets  for  employing  modes  of  diction,  which 
no  one  would  use  in  common  conversation;  such  as 
ZoilLOLTOiV  a^o,  and  not  aTro  owixarwv,  i.  e.  honie  from^ 
and  not  from  home  ;  a-e^sv  [for  g-o'j  ;]  viv  [for  awrov ;] 
and  A-x^lXKbcds  Trepi^  and  not  Trspt  AxiXk^mg^  i.  e.  Achilles 
about,  and  not  about  Achilles  ;  and  other  expressions  of 
the  like  kind.     For  all  such  forms  of  language,  because 


'  In  this  verse  Polypliemus  complains  that  he  was  deprived  of 
sight  by  Ulysses,  a  littU,  voealc,  vile  man.  But  Homer,  instead  of 
using  the  word  i^ix^*?,  little,  uses  oXiy^,  which  signifies  fiw.  In- 
stead of  xr6mK6^,  'puny^  he  uses  otfT<5*w5,  which]«^«£/f«  a  man  (f  »o 
account ;  and  <»xiKV5>  powerless,  instead  of  xuh^,  obscure, 

*  In  this  yerse,  which  is  from  the  21st  book  of  the  Odyssey, 
Homer,  for  the  purpose  of  signifying  an  ignoble  seat,  calls  it  by  a 
foreign  word,  auxtxi^f,  and  not  by  the  usual  word,  f^^h^^r,  and  he 
calls  the  table,  not  fun^xy,  small,  but  •A*y»jy,.y«c. 


S36 


THE   POETIC. 


CHAP*  xxiin 


they  are  not  in  common  use,  remove  vulgarity  from  the 
diction.  But  of  this  he  was  ignorant.  It  is,  however, 
a  great  thing  to  use  each  of  the  above-mentioned  modes 
in  a  becoming  manner ;  and  also  compound  and  foreign 
words.  But  the  greatest  thing  is  to  employ  metaphors 
properly.  For  this  alone  cannot  be  acquired  from  ano- 
ther, but  is  an  indication  of  an  excellent  genius  ;  since  tor 
employ  metaphors  well,  is  to  survey  similitude.  But  of 
words,  the  double  indeed  [or  compound,]  are  especially 
adapted  to  dithyrambic  verse  ;  the  foreign  to  heroic,  and 
metaphors  to  iambic  verse.  And  in  heroic  verse,  indeed, 
all  the  above-mentioned  words  are  useful ;  but  for  iam- 
bics, because  they  especially  imitate  common  discourse, 
those  words  are  adapted  which  may  be  used  in  conversa- 
tion, ^nd  words  of  this  description  are,  the  proper,  the 
metaphorical,  and  the  ornamental.  And  thus  much  may 
suffice  concerning  tragedy,  and  the  imitation  m  acting. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


Concerning  the  poetry,  however,  which  is  narrative 
and  imitative  in  metre,  it  is  evident  that  it  ought  to  have 
dramatic  fables,  in  the  same  manner  as  tragedy,  and 
should  be  conversant  with  one  whole  and  perfect  action, 
which  has  a  beginning,  middle,  axid  end,  in  order  that 


CHAP.  XXIII. 


THE    POETIC. 


337 


like  one   whole   animal  it  may  produce  its  appropriate 
pleasure  ;  and  that  it  may  not  be  like  the  custom  of  his- 
tory, in  which  it  is  not  necessary  that  a  manifestation 
should  be  made  of  one  action,  but  of  one  time,  viz.  of  such 
things  as  have  happened  in  that  time,  respecting  one,  or 
more  persons,  the  relation  of  each  of  which  to  each  other 
is  just  as  it  may  happen.     For  as  the  sea-fight  at  Salamis, 
and  the  battle  with  the  Carthaginians  in  Sicily,  though 
they  happened  at  the  same  time,  contributed  nothing  to 
the  same  end ;  thus  also  in  successive  times,  one  thing 
may  sometimes  be  connected  with  another,  from  which 
no  one  end  is  produced.     Nearly,  however,  most  poets 
do   this.     Hence,   as  we  have  before  observed,  in  this 
respect  also  Homer  will  appear  to  be  divine,  when  com- 
pared with  other  poets,  because  he  did  not  attempt  to  sing 
of  the  whole  of  the  Trojan  war,  though  it  had  a  begin- 
ning and  an  end.     For  if  he  had,  it  would  have  been  very 
great,  and  not  sufficiently  conspicuous ;  or  if  it  had  been 
of  a  moderate  size,  it  would  have  been  intricate  through 
the  variety  of  incidents.     But  now  having  selected  one 
part  of  the  war,  he  has  made  use  of  many  episodes  from 
the  other  parts ;  such  as  the  catalogue  of  the  ships,  and 
other  episodes,  with  which  he  has  adorned  his  poem. 
Other  poets,  however,  have  composed  a  fable  about  one 
man,  and  one  time,  and  one  action,  consisting  of  many 
parts;  as  the  authors  of  the  Cypriacs,  and  the  lesser 
Iliad.     With  respect  to  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey,  therefore, 
one  or  two  tragedies  only  could  be  made  from  each.   But 
many  might  be  made  from  the  Cypriacs ;  and  from  the 
lesser  Iliad  more  than  eight ;  such  as  the  Judgment  of  the 
Arms,  Philoctetes,  Neoptolemus,  Eurypylus,  the  Ptochia, 
[or  Ulysses  in  the  character  of  a  beggar,]  the  Lacsenae, 


ArisL 


VOL.  I. 


338 


THE   POETIC. 


CHAP,  xxrv* 


the  Destruction  of  Troy,  the  Return  of  the   Greeks, 
Sinon,  and  the  TroaJes- 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


Agx\in,  It  IS  requisite  that  the  epopee  should  have  the 
same  species  as  tragedy..  For  it  is  necessary  that  it 
should  be  either  simple,  or  complex,  or  ethical,  or  pathe- 
tic. The  parts  also  are  the  same,  except  the  music  and 
the  scenery.  For  it  requires  peripetia,  recognition,  and 
passion ;  and  besides  these,  the  reasoning  and  the  diction 
should  be  well  formed ;  all  which  were  first  used  by 
Homer,  and  are  used  by  him  sufficiently.  For  in  each 
of  his  poems  he  has  introduced  all  these;  the  Iliad 
indeed  containing  the  simple  and  pathetic ;  but  the  Odys- 
sey the  complex ;  for  through  the  whole  of  it  there  is 
recognition  and  the  ethical.  And  besides  these  things, 
he  excelled  all  poets  in  diction  and  reasoning.  The  epo- 
pee, however,  differs  from  tragedy  in  the  length  of  the 
composition,  and  in  the  metre.  But  the  proper  boun- 
dary of  its  length  we  have  before  described;  for  it  should 
be  such  that  the  beginning  and  the  end  may  be  seen  at 
one  view.  This,  however,  will  be  effected  if  the  compo- 
sitions are  shorter  than  those  of  the  ancient  poets,  and 


CHAP.  XXIV. 


THE    POETIC. 


339 


brought  to  the  same  length  with  the  multitude  of  trage- 
dies that  are  performed  at  one  time.     But  it  is  the  pecu* 
liarity  of  the  epopee  to  possess  abundantly  the  power  of 
increasing  in  magnitude ;  for  tragedy  is  not  capable  of 
imitating  many  actions  that  are  performed  at  the  same 
time,  but  that  part  only  which  is  represented  in  the 
scene,  and  acted  by  the  players.     In  the  epopee,  how- 
ever, in  consequence  of  being  a  narration,  many  events 
may  be  introduced  which  have  happened  at  the  same 
time,  which  are  so  connected  as  to   contribute  to   the 
same  end,   and  from  which  the  bulk  of  the   poem  is  • 
increased.     Hence,  this  contributes  to  its  magnificence, 
transports  the  hearer  to  different  places,  and  adorns  the 
poem  with  dissimilar  episodes.     For  similitude  of  events 
rapidly  produces  satiety,  and  causes  the  failure  of  trage- 
dies.     But   heroic    metre   [i.  e.    hexameter   verse,]  is 
found  by  experience  to  be  adapted  to  the  epopee.     For 
if  any  one  should  attempt   narrative  imitation  in  any 
other  metre,  or  in  many  metres  mingled  together,  the 
unfitness  of  it  would  be  apparent.     For  heroic  metre  is 
of  all  others  the  most  stable  and  ample.     Hence  it  espe- 
cially receives  foreign  words  and  metaphors.     For  narra- 
tive imitation  excels  all  others.      But  iambics  and  tetra- 
meters  are  of  a  motive  nature  ;  the  one  being  adapted  to 
dancing,  but  the  other  to  acting.     It  would,  however,  be 
still  more  absurd,  to  mingle  them  together,  as  Chasremon 
did.     Hence,  no  one  has  composed  a  long  poem  in  any 
other  measure  than  the  heroic  ;  but,  as  we  have  said, 
nature  herself  teaches  us  that  hexameter  verse  is  adapted 
to  the  epopee.     Homer,  indeed,  deserves  to  be  praised 
for  many  other  things,   and  also  because  he  is  the  only 
poet  who  was  not  ignorant  what  he  ought  to  do  himself. 
For  it  is  requisite  that  the  poet  should  speak  in  his  own 


SIO 


THE    POiiTIC. 


CHA2'.  XXIW 


person  as  little  as  possible ;  for  so  far  as  he  speaks  in  his 
own  person  he  is  not  an  imitator.  Other  poets,  therefore, 
take  an  active  part  through  the  whole  poem,  and  they 
only  imitate  a  few  things,  and  seldom.  But  Homer", 
after  a  short  preface,  immediately  introduces  a  man  or  a 
woman,  or  something  else  that  has  manners  ;  for  there  is 
nothing  in  his  poem  unattended  with  manners.  It  is  ne- 
cessary, therefore,  in  tragedies  to  produce  the  wonder- 
ful ;  but  that  which  is  contrary  to  reason  is  better  fitted 
to  be  received  in  the  epopee.  Hence,  the  wonderful  is 
excited  in  the  highest  degree  from  the  agent  not  being 
keen.  In  the  next  place,  the  particulars  respecting  the 
pursuit  of  Hecifor,  would  appear  ridiculous  [when  placed 
before  the  eyes]  in  the  scene  ;  the  Greeks  indeed  stand- 
ing still,  and  not  pursuing,  and  Achilles  making  signs  to 
them  not  to  engage.  But  in  the  epopee  this  is  con- 
cealed. The  wonderful,  however,  is  pleasing ;  of  which 
this  IS  an  indication,  that  all  men  when  they  wish  to  gra- 
tify their  hearers,  add  something  to  what  they  relate. 
Homer  also  in  the  highest  degree  taught  others  how  to 
speak  falsely  [i.  e.  to  make  false  narrations]  in  a  proper 
manner.  But  this  is  a  paralogism.  For  men  fancy  that  .. 
when  the  consequent  follows  from  the  antecedent,  the  con- 
sequent may  be  converted,  and  that  t-he  antecedent  will 
follow  from  the  consequent.  This,  however,  is  false.  For 
the  antecedent  may  be  false  -,  but  this  being  otherwise, 
the  consequent  will  necessarily  follow.  For  through 
knowing  the  consequent  to  be  true,  our  soul  paralo- 
gizes, and  concludes  that  the  antecedent  also  is  true/ 

'  The  modems,  from  being  ignorant  of  this  very  important 
truth,  have  committed  the  greatest  errors  in  the  mathematical 
sclecices ;  for  they  have  not  been  aware  how  possible  it  is  to  de- 
duce true  conclusions  from  Jalse  principles*  See  .  my  Elements  of 
tlic  True  Arithmetic  of  Infinites. 


CHAP.  XXIV. 


THE    POETIC* 


341 


Again,  things  which  are  impossible  but  probable,  are  to 
be  preferred  to  such  as  are  possible  but  improbable. 
Fables  also  should  not  be  composed  from  irrational  parts, 
but  as  much  as  possible,  indeed,  they  should  have  nothing 
irrational  in  them :  if,  however,  this  is  impossible,  care 
should  be  taken  that  the  irrational  circumstance  does  not 
pertain  to  the  fable,  as  in  the  case  of  CEdipus  not  know- 
ing how  Laius  died.  For  it  must  not  be  brought  into 
the  drama,  like  the  narration  of  the  Pythian  games  in 
the  Electra,  or  him  who,  in  the  tragedy  of  the  Myskns, 
comes  from  Tegea  to  Mysia  without  speaking.  It  is 
ridiculous,  therefore,  to  say,  that  otherwise  the  fable 
would  be  destroyed ;  for  such  fables  should  not  at  first 
be  composed.  But  if  they  are  composed,  and  it  appears 
more  reasonable  that  they  should  be,  the  absurdity  also 
must  be  admitted ;  since  the  irrational  circumstances  in 
the  Odyssey,  such  as  Ulysses  being  left  on  the  shore  of 
Ithaca  by  the  Phoeacians,  would  evidently  have  been 
intolerable,  if  they  had  been  fabricated  by  a  bad  poet* 
But  now  the  poet  conceals  the  absurdity,  and  renders  it 
pleasing  by  the  addition  of  other  delightful  circum- 
stances. The  diction,  likewise,  should  be  laboured  in 
the  sluggish  parts  of  the  poem,  and  which  are  neither 
ethical  nor  ratiocinative.  For  a  very  splendid  diction 
conceals  the  manners  and  the  reasoning. 


342 


THE    POETIC. 


CHAP.  XXV. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


WTUi  respect  to  the  objections  of  critics,  and   the 
solutions  of  those  objections,  the  number  and  quality  of 
their  species  will  become  apparent  from  surveying  them 
as  follows.     Since  the  poet  is  an  imitator,  in  the  same 
manner  as  a  painter,  or  any  other  person  who  makes 
likenesses,  it  is  necessary  that  he  should  always  imitate 
one   of    three   things.      For    he    must    either    imicate 
things  such  as  they  were  or  are,  or  such  as  they  are 
said  and  appear  to  be,  or  such  as  they  ought  to   be. 
But    these    must   be   enunciated   either  by   [common] 
diction,  or  by  foreign  words  and  metaphors.     For  there 
are  many  properties  of  diction  ;  and  we  concede  these  to 
the  poets.     Besides  this,  there  is  not  the  same  rectitude 
of  politics  and  poetry,  nor  of  any  other  art  and  poetry. 
But  of  poetry  itself,  the  error  is  twofold  ;  the  one  indeed 
essential,  the  other  accidental.     For  the  error  is  essential, . 
when  it  attempts  to  imitate  that  which  is  beyond  its 
power;  but  accidental,  when  it  attempts  to  imitate  impro- 
perly y  as  if,  for  instance,  a  horse  should  be  described  as 
moving  both  its  right  legs  together.     Or  an  error  m 
each  of  the  arts  is  accidentally  committed  in  poetry,  as  in 
medicine,  or  any   other  art,    when  it  fabricates    things 
that  are  impossible.  These,  therefore,  whatever  they  may 
be,  are  not  the  essential  errors  of  poetry.     Hence,  the 
objections  of  critics  must  be  dissolved  from  surveying 
these   particulars.     For  in  the   first  place,  indeed,  the 
poet  errs,  if  what  he  fabricates  is  impossible  according  to 


CHAP.  XXV. 


THE  pomc. 


S43 


the  art  itself ;  but  it  will  be  right  If  the  end  of  poetry  is 
obtained  by  it.     For  we  have  before  shown  what  the 
end  is.     Thus,  for  instance,  the  end  of  poetry  will  be 
attained,  if  the  poet  thus  renders  what  he  fabricates,  or 
any  other  part  of  the  poem,  more  capable  of  producing 
astonishment.      An   example  of  this  is  the  pursuit  of 
Hector.     If,   however,   this  end   can  be  obtained  in  a 
greater,  or  even  a  less  degree,  and  that  according  to  the 
art  pertaining  to  these  things,  then  the  fault  will  not  be 
entitled  to  excuse.     For  it  is  requisite  if  possible  to  be 
entirely  without  error.     Farther  still,  it  should  be  consi- 
dered whether  the  error  ranks  among  things  pertaining 
to  the  poetic  art,  or  to  some  other  art.     For  it  is  a  less 
fault  not  to  know  that  a  hind  has  no  horns,  than   to 
make  a  bad  imitation  of  a  hind.     Besides  this,  also,  if 
the  poet  is  blamed  for  not  imitating  things  as  they  truly 
are,  the  solution  is,  that  he  imitates  them  as  they  ought  to 
be.    Thus  Sophocles  said,  that  he  described  men  such  as 
they  ought  to  be,  but  Euripides  such  as  they  were.  Hence, 
SHch  must  be  the  solution  to  this  objection.     If,   how^ 
ever,  it  should  be  objected,  that  the  poet  neither  repre- 
sents things  such  as  they  are,  nor  such  as  they  ought  to 
be,  he  may  say  that  he  represents  them  conformably  to 
the  general  opinion,  as,  for  instance,  in  things  pertaining 
to  the  gods.     For  perhaps  it  is  neither  better  thus  to 
speak,  nor  true,  but  it  is  just  as  it  may  happen  ;   as  Xe- 
nophanes  observes,  ^'In  these  things  there  is  nothing  cer- 
tain."    Perhaps,   however,  it  may  be  said,  tha^  it  is  not 
better,  indeed,  thus  to  speak,  but  that  the  thing  did  at 
that  time  thus  subsist ;  as  in  this  instance  concerning  the 
<irms  [of  the  soldiers  of  Diomed  Q 


A  wood  of  spears  stood  by,  that,  fixM  upright, 

Shot  from  their  flashing  points  a  quivering  light.       Ij 


10. 


344 


THE    POETIC. 


CHAP.  XXV. 


For  such  was  the  order  in  which  they  were  then  placed, 
as  it  is  now  with  the  Illyrians.  With  respect,  however, 
to  the  inquiry  whether  a  thing  is  said  or  done  by  any 
one  well  or  ill,  we  must  not  only  direct  our  attention  to 
the  thing  itself  which  is  done  or  said,  and  see  whether  it 
is  good  or  bad,  but  we  must  also  consider  the  person  by 
whom  it  is  done  or  said,  viz.  concerning  whom,  or  when, 
or  to  whom,  or  on  what  account,  he  speaks  or  acts  ;  as 
whether  it  is  for  the  sake  of  a  greater  good,  or  in  order 
to  avoid  a  greater  evil.  But  it  is  requisite  to  dissolve 
some  objections  by  directing  the  attention  to  diction ;  as, 
for  instance,  to  foreign  words  [in  Homer  :[] 


On  mules  the  infection  first  began. 


II.  I. 


For  perhaps  ovpr^ag  does  not  signify  muleSy  but  guards. 
And  in  what  he  says  of  Dolon, 


his  form  was  bad. 


II.  10. 


It  may  be  said  that  si^os  xoLxog^  does  not  signify  a  body 
without  symmetry,  but  a  deformed  face.  For  the  Cre- 
tans call  a  man  with  a  good  face  sufiiSvj^.     And, 


Mix  purer  wine. 


II.  9. 


For  ^(o^cyripov  may  not  mean  wine  undiluted  with  water, 
such  as  those  who  are  addicted  to  intoxication  delight  in, 
but  wine  poured  out  rapidly.  But  a  thing  is  said  meta- 
phorically, as. 


The  other  gods  and  men 
Slept  all  the  night. 


Ii.  2. 


IL^A^  k^  W       •%*'*        V*«^       •*•«—  «*W  ^«M«>       ^w  w 

For  all  is  metaphorically  used  for  mani/  ;  since  all  is  a 
certain  great  multitude.     And, 


CHAP.  XXV, 


THU    POETIC. 


S4v5 


Alone  unbath*  J- 


IL.  IS. 


IS 


..  said  of  Orion  metaphorically.  For  that  which  is 
most  known,  is  called  alo7ie  or  sole.  ^  Objections  also 
may  be  solved  from  accent,  asHipplas  the  Thasian  solved 
the  following  passages : 


hh^if  h  •i  [sv^dJ  oc^is$Xi^ 


1  % 


And, 

Of  some  stately  oak  the  last  remains, 

Or  hardf  fir,  unperish'd  by  the  rains.  Pope,  II.  2;5. 

Obiectlons  likewise  may  be  solved  by  the  division  of  the 
sentence,  [or  interpunction  •,]  as  in  the  foUowing-instance 
from  Empedocles, 


.  Viz.  It  Is  coiled  so  comparatively  with  reference  to  what  Is 
less  known.     And  it  is  most  known  of  this  constellauon,  that  it  does 

not  appear  to  set  in  the  ocean. 

.  This  line  is  not  extant,  and  what  is  supplied  .s  from  Je  conjec- 
ture of  some  learned  men.  It  allades  to  the  -^er  g'ven  by  Jup.ter 
to  the  dream  in  II.  2.  to  deceive  Agamemnon.  Here,  .f  ^.i^"  « 
:  d 'vitl^  an  acoent  in  the  antepenult,  it  will  s.gn.  y  <ia,nus  and 
will  imply  that  Jupiter  promises  Agamemnon  glory  from  h= 
r  tie  •  but  if  it  is  read  v^-ith  an  accent  in  the  penult,  so  as  to  be  the 
S  t  ve  Ionic,  it  ^vill  signify  dare.  It  .ill  therefore  .mply^at 
Jupiter  orders  the  dream  to  give  the  hope   of  victory  to  Aga- 

~L  is  read  with  the  circumflex  on  the  ..  it  .ill  signify  that 
the  oak  became  putrid  by  the  rain,  which  is  absurd ,  but .  .t  ts 
'eSd  with  an  acute  accent  and  spiritus  lenls.  it  will  s.gntfy  nol,  and 
will  imply,  thai  the  oak  was  not  rotted  by  the  ram. 


346 


THE    POETIC. 


CHAP.  XXV. 


Or  by  ambiguous  expressions,  as  [In  Iliad,  10.] 


TFU^aty^miv  ^i  TrXim  »w|, 


[run  ^y«  fAoi^xm,  r^trrxTn  5'  it<  fioi^x  MMtyrrxi,]  * 

Night  of  two  parts  the  greater  share  had  wan*d. 
But  of  her  empire  still  a  third  remained. 

For  the  word  greater  is  ambiguous.  Or  objections  may 
be  solved  from  the  custom  of  diction  ;  as  when  it  is 
said  that  wine  is  xsxpaiJLsvov,  mia^ed ;  whence  the  poet. 


—  Greaves  of  new-wrought  tin.  II.  21. 


And   those   that   work    on    iron    are   called  brazier^* 
Whence  Ganymede  is  said 

To  pour  out  wine  for  Jove  ;         II.  20. 


though  the  gods  do  not  drink  wine.  But  this  may  be 
considered  as  metaphorically  said.  It  is  necessary,  how- 
ever, when  a  word  appears  to  signify  something  of  a 

'  The  sense  here  depends  on  the  punctuatFon.  For  if  the  comma 
is  put  after  ^ut^cc  in  the  second  line,  instead  of  Tr^tv,  the  sense  will 
be,  «  Immediately  those  things  were  made  mortal  which  before 
had  learnt  to  be  immortal,  and  pure  which  before  were  mixed.** 
But  if  the  comma  is  put  after  ^^tv  instead  of  ^«^«,  the  sense  will 
be,  "  that  those  things  which  before  were  pure,  were  mixed." 

In  the  original  this  line  in  the  brackets  is  wanting ;  but  there 
can  be  no  doubt  of  it  having  been  inserted  by  Aristotle,  because 
without  it  there  is  no  ambiguity.  But  the  ambiguity  is  occasioned 
by  the  word  vXimv,  which  may  either  signify  more  than,  or  the gr eaten 
part  of. 


OHAP.  XXV. 


THE  POETIC. 


S47 


contrary  nature,  to  consider  how  many  significations  it 
may  have  in  the  passage  before  us ;  as, 

Five  plates  of  various  metal,  various  mould, 
Composed  the  shield,  of  brass  each  outward  fold. 
Of  tin  each  inward,  and  the  middle  gold ;— 
There  stuck  the  lance  : ^ope,  II.  20. 

For  here  the  word  stuck  implies  that  the  lance  was  im. 
peded  by  the  golden  plate.     Many  objections,  however, 
niay  be  solved  by  paying  attention  to  the  many  contrary 
opinions  which  the  poet  might  follow.     For  the  opmion 
of  the  multitude  is  frequently  contrary  to  that  ot  the 
poet »    Or,  as  Glauco  says,  "  some  men  presuppose  irra- 
tionally,  and  reason  from  their  own  decision  :   and  in 
consequence   of  being   led   by   appearances    reprobate 
whatever  is  contrary  to  their  opinion  "     This  was  the 
case  with  respect  to  Icarius  [the  father  of  Penelope]. 
For  the  multitude  fancy  that  he  was  a  Laconian.     On 
this  supposition,  therefore,  it  is  absurd  that  Telemachus 
should  not  meet  him,   on  his  arrival  at  Lacedsemon. 
Perhaps,  however,  the  truth  is  as  the  Cephalenians  say, 
viz.  that  Ulvsses  married  among  them,  and  that  Icadms, 
and  not  Icadus  [was  his  father-in-law].     It  is  probable, 
therefore,  that  this  objection  is  erroneous.     In  short,  it 
is  necessary  to  refer  the  impossible  either  to  the  poetry, 
or  to  that  which  is  better,  or  to  opinion.     For  so  tar  as 
pertains  to  poetry,  probable  impossibility  is  more  eligible, 
than  the  improbable  and  possible.     For  the  poet  may 
imitate  things  not  as  they  are,  but  as  it  is  better  for  them 
to  be,  just  as  Zeuxis  painted  [Helen  more  beautiful  than 

.  From  the  obscurity  of  the  original,  I  have  been  obliged  to 
paraphrase  this  passage. 


348 


THi:    POETIC. 


CHAP.  XXV. 


she  was].  For  it  is  necessary  that  the  pattern  in  imi- 
tation should  be  transcendent.  The  objection,  also,  that 
something  is  irrational  may  be  solved  by  saying,  that 
sometimes  it  is  not  irrational;  for  it  is  probable  that  what 
is  improbable  may  have  happened.  But  with  respect  to 
the  solution  of  subcontraries,  these  are  to  be  considered 
in  the  same  manner  as  elenchV  in  arguments,  if  the 
same  thing  [is  affirmed  or  denied,]  and  with  respect  to 
the  same  thing,  and  after  the  same  manner,  and  whether 
It  IS  the  same  person  [who  afErms  and  denies].  It  must, 
likewise,  be  considered  whether  he  speaks  from  his  own 
opinion,  or  adopts  the  opinion  of  some  wise  man.  The 
reprehension  [of  poets]  will  however  be  right,  through 
which  it  is  shown  that  they  have  without  any  necessity 
devised  something  irrational  or  depraved.  Thus  irra- 
tionality is  devised  [without  any  necessity]  by  Euripides 
in  his  JEgeus,  and  impiety,  in  the  character  of  Menelaus, 
in  his  Orestes.  These  reprehensions,  therefore,  may  be 
derived  from  five  species.  For  they  are  either  made 
because  impossibilities  are  introduced,  or  absurdities,  or 
what  is  hurtful,  or  subcontraries,  or  as  errors  committed 
against  the  rectitude  of  art.  But  the  solutions  may  be 
surveyed  from  the  above-mentioned  number  5  for  they 
are  twelve. 


•  ElcnchI  are  defined  by  Aristotle  in  his  treatise  on  Sophisucal 
Elcnchi,  to  be  sf/llogisms  of  conitradiziion. 


CHAP.  XXVI. 


THE    POETIC- 


349 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


It  may  however  be  asked,  whether  epic  or  tragic  imi- 
tation  is  the  more  excellent.     For  if  that  imitation  is  the 
better  which  is  less  troublesome  to  the  spectator,  and 
such  an  imitation  pertains  to  better  spectators,  that  which 
imitates  every  thing  is  evidently  attended  with  moles- 
tation.    For  such  imitation  supposes  that  the  spectators 
will  not  perceive  what  is  acted  without  the  addition  of 
much  movement ;  just  as  bad  players  on  the  flute  turn 
themselves  round,  when  it  is  requisite  to  imitate  a  discus 
[in  its  circumvolution ;]  or  when  they  sing  of  Scylla 
[drawing  ships,]  draw  to  themselves  the  coryphae\is,  or 
leader  of  the  band,  [in  order  to  imitate  this  drawing]- 
Tragedy,  therefore,  resembles  this  imitation.     For  play- 
ers of  the  first  eminence  express  a  few  things  by  gesture 
and  motion  ;  but  players  of  the  second  rank  express 
nearly  every  thing  by  these.     Hence,  Myniscus  called 
Callipides  an  ape,  in  consequence  of  carrying  his  imi- 
tation  to  a  great  excess.     And  there  was  also  an  opinion 
of  this  kind  concerning  Pindar  [the  player].     But  as 
•  players  of  the  first  are  to  players  of  the  second  emi- 
nence,   so  is  the  whole  art  of  tragedy  to  the  epopee. 
They  say,  therefore,  that  the  epopee  is  calculated  for 
equitable  and  worthy  persons,  on  which  account  it  doai 
not  require  scenery  5  but  that  tragedy  is  calculated  for 


350 


THE  POETIC* 


CHAP.  XXVI* 


the  vulgar.  Hence,  tragic  imitation,  which  is  trouble- 
some to  the  spectator,  will  evidently  be  inferior  to  epic 
imitation. 


In  the  first  place,  however,  this  accusation  does  not 
pertain  to  the  poet,  but  the  actor  5  since  it  is  possible 
in  reciting  epic  poetry  to  pay  too  much  attention 
to  action,  as  Sosistratus  did,  and  likewise  in  singing,  as 
Mnastheus  of  Opus  did.  In  the  next  place,  neither 
is  all  motion  to  be  despised,  since  neither  is  every  kind 
of  dancing,  but  only  that  which  is  bad  ;  and  hence 
Callipedes  was  blamed,  as  others  now  are  for  not  imi- 
tating free  women.  Farther  still,  tragedy,  in  the  same 
manner  as  the  epopee,  may  attain  its  end  without  motion 
[[and  gesture  Q  for  by  reading,  it  is  manifest  what  kind 
of  a  thing  it  is*  If,  therefore,  it  is  in  other  respects 
better,  it  is  not  necessary  that  it  should  be  accompanied 
with  motion  and  gesture.  In  the  next  place,  tragedy  has 
every  thing  which  the  epopee  posesses.  For  it  may  use 
metre,  and  it  has  also  music  and  scenery,  as  no  small 
parts,  through  which  the  pleasure  it  produces  is  most 
apparent.  To  which  may  be  added,  that  it  possesses 
perspicuity,  both  when  it  is  read,  and  when  it  is  acted. 
The  end  too  of  its  imitation  is  confined  in  less  extended 
limits.  For  being  crowded  into  a  narrower  compass,  it 
becomes  more  pleasing  than  if  it  were  extended  through 
a  long  period  of  time.  Thus,  for  instance,  if  the  CEdipus 
of  Sophocles  were  put  into  as  many  verses  as  the  Iliad, 
[it  would  be  less  pleasing].  Again,  the  imitation  of  the 
epopee,  of  whatever  kind  it  may  be,  has  less  unity  [than 
tragic  imitation ;]  of  which  this  is  an  indication,  that 
from  any  kind  of  epic  imitation  many  tragedies  may  be 
produced.      Hence,   if  be  who   writes  an  epic  poem 


♦ 


G!HA1>.  XHVU 


TitE    l^OETld. 


351 


should  choose  a  fable  perfectly  one,  the  poem  would 
necessarily  either  appear  short,  as  if  curtailed,  or  if  it 
should  be  accompanied  with  length  of  metre,  it  would 
seem  to  be  languid.     But  if  he  should  compose  one 
fable  from  many  fables,  I  mean,  if  the  poem  should 
consist  of   many  actions,  it  would  not  possess  unity. 
Thus,  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  contain  many  such  parts, 
which  of  themselves  possess  magnitude,  though  these 
poems  are  composed,  as  much  as  possible,  in  the  most 
excellent  manner,  and  are  most  eminently  the  imitation 
of  one  action.     If,  therefore,  tragedy  excels  in  all  these 
particulars,  and  besides  this,   in  the  work  of  art,  (for 
neither  tragic  nor  epic  imitation   ought  to   produce  a 
casual  pleasure,  but  that  which  we  have  mentioned)  it  is 
evident  that  it  will  be  more  excellent  than  the  epopee, 
in  consequence  of  attaining  its  end  in  a  greater  degree. 
And  thus  much  concerning  tragedy,  and  the  epopee,  as 
to  themselves,  their  species,  and  their  parts,  their  number 
and  their  difference,  what  the  causes  are  of  their  being 
good  or  bad,  and  also  concerning  the  objections  which 
may  be    made  to   them,   and    the    solutions  of    the 
objections.  - 


}.i\i,-«>i«.0  ■fa.jtatC-aiiaaWiarlg 


DATE  DUE 


OCTl  0  1973 


^^^  S  6  1974 


MAR     S1979 

jUN  1  9  t98Z 
novo  1  1983 


\i 


.». 


«'' 


81   ARISTOTELES 


AUTHCiR 

AeEt 


Rhetoric ,   P^^tic, 


anarillcomaSHeairirEHrcs 


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■^r-        :*.     *«' 


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T**., 


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Cdumbia  ©ntbetsttp 


LIBRARY 


lifflf 


^f- 


1! 


m. 


I 


i»M 


Hi 


THE 


RHETORIC,    POETIC, 


AND 


NICOMACHEAN    ETHICS 


OF 


ARISTOTLE. 


Arist, 


VOL.  IT. 


THE 


RHETORIC,     POETIC, 


AND 


NICOMACHEAN    ETHICS 


OF 


ARISTOTLE, 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  GREEK. 


BY  THOMAS  TAYLOR. 


TWO  VOLUMES. 
VOL.  II. 


JOVE   HONOURS    ME,   AND    FAVOURS    MY    DESIGNS. 

Pope's  Homer's  Iliad,  Book  9th,  v.  717- 


LONDON : 


Printed  hy  A.  J.  Valpy,  TooJce's  Court,  Chancery  Lane, 
FOR  JAMES  BLACK  AND  SON,  TAVISTOCK  STREET, 

COVENT    GARDEN. 


1818. 


THE 


NICOMACHEAN   ETHICS. 


Arist. 


VOL.  !!• 


J.,  /i  O  C^  vy  vJ 


■ill A    .    .:   ; 

r 

•  '#»»-.(-; 


ol^ 


A4- 


THE 


NICOMACHEAN    ETHICS. 


BOOK  I. 


-e; 


CHAPTER  L 


Every  art  and  every  method,  and  in  like  manner  every 
.  action  and  deliberate  choice,  appear  to  aspire  after  a  cer- 
tain good.  IJence,  it  is  well  said,  that  the  good  is  that 
which  all  things  desire.  Of  ends,  however,  there  ap- 
pears to  be  a  certain  difference ;  for  some  of  them  are 
energies ;  but  others  of  them  besides  these  are  certain 
works.  'But  in  those  things  in  which  there  are  certain 
ends  besides  the  actions,  in  these  the  works  are  naturally 
adapted  to  be  better  than  the  energies.  Since,  however, 
there  are  many  actions  and  arts,  and  sciences,  there  will 
also  be  many. ends.-    For  the  end  of  medicine  is^heaUh  i 


ml 


5f 


I 


; ; 


'    I 


THE   NICOMACHEAN 


SOOK  1/ 


of  the  ship-building  art,  a  ship ;  of  the  military  art, 
victory;  and  of  the  economic  art,  wealth.  But  such 
arts  as  are  of  this  kind  are  [^arranged]  under  one  certain 
power  ;  just  as  the  bridle-making  art  is  arranged  under 
the  equestrian  art,  and  such  other  arts  as  pertain  to  eques- 
trian instruments.  Both  this  art,  however,  and  every 
warlike  action,  are  arranged  under  the  military  art.  And 
after  the  same  manner  other  arts  are  arranged  under 
other  powers.  But  in  all  these,  the  ends  of  those  arts 
which  are  architectonic,  or  master  arts,  are  more  eligible 
than  all  the  .ends  of  the  arts  which  are  subordinate  to  the 
master  arts.  For  the  latter  are  pursued  for  the  sake  of 
the  former.  It  makes,  however,  no  difference,  whether 
the  energies  themselves  are  the  ends  of  actions,  or  some- 
thing else  besides  these;  in  the  same  manner  as  in  the 
above-mentioned  sciences. 


/. 


CHAPTER   II. 

* 

If,  therefore,  there  is  a  certain  end  of  actions,  which 
we  wish  [to  obtain]  for  its  own  sake,  but  we  desire  other 
things  on  account  of  this,  and  our  choice  is  not  directed 
to  all  things  for  the  sake  of  something  else  (for  thus 
there  would  be  a  progression  to  infinity,  so  that  appetite 
would  be  empty  and  vain)— if  this  be  the  case,  it  is 


:i 


. 


!•: 


/ir^^-y^  i^.«^-v{  v^   f^^'P^ 


CHAP.  II. 


ETHICS. 


evident  that  this  end  will  be  the  good,  and  that  which  isf 
the  most  excellent.  Will  not,  therefore,  the  knowledge 
of  this  end  be  of  great  importance  with  respect  to  life  ? 
For  by  having,  like  archers,  a  mark  at  which  we  may 
aim,  we  shall  obtain  what  is  fit  in  a  greater  degree.  If 
this,  however,  be  the  case,  we  must  endeavour  to  adum- 
brate what  it  is,  and  show  to  what  science  or  power  it 
belongs.  But  it  would  seem  that  it  helongs_ta  that 
powerjffijiich  is  the  most  principal,  and  is  especially  archi- 
tecjoiuc.  And  the_£2litk^!j!£wer  [or  science]  appears 
to  be  a  thing  of  this  kind.  For  this  ordains  what  sciences 
ought  to  be  instituted  in  cities,  and  which  of  them  ought  to 
be  learnt  by  the  several  individuals,  and  to  what  extent. 
We  likewise  see  that  the  most  honourable  of  the  powers 
or  faculties  are  arranged  under  this  power ;  as,  for  in- 
stance, the  military,  the  economical,  and  the  rhetorical 
powers.  Since,  however,  the  remaining  practical  sciences 
use  this  political  science,  and  since  it  also  legally  estab- 
lishes what  ought  to  be  done,  and  frcyn  what  it  is  requi- 
site to  abstain,  the  end  of  this  science  will  comprehend 
in  itself  the  ends  of  the  other  sciences ;  so  that  this  will 
be  human  good  itself.  For  though  the  good  of  an  indi- 
vidual  and  a  city  is  the  same,  yet  to  obtain  and  preserve 
the  good  of  a  city,  appears  to  be  something  greater  and 
more  perfect.  For  we  must  be  satisfied,  indeed,  if  we 
can  effect  the  good  of  an  individual  alone ;  but  it  is  more 
beautiful  and  divine  to  effect  the  good  of  a  nation  and 
cities.  These  are  the  things,  therefore,  which  the  method 
being  political  requires. 


i^f^nw-.   ■  mam\  twifm^g^K^ 


wmm 


■"% 


THE  NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  I. 


CHAK  nu 


JiTHTCS. 


CHAPTER  III. 


It  will,  however,  be  discussed  sufEcIently,  if  it  is 
rendered  perspicuous  according  to  its  subject  matter. 
For  accuracy  must  not  be  similarly  investigated  in  all  dis- 
cussions, as  neither  in  all  the  works  of  art.  Things 
beautif uj^^Ji035^3[£r*_M^_Ju^^  . 

scieiKe_i8jcqnversant5  possess  so  great  a  difference,  and 
are  involved  in  so  much  ambiguity,  that  [to  some  per- 
sons] their  subsistence  appears  to  be  from  law  only,  and 
not  from  nature.  What  is  good^  likewise,  possesses  a 
certam  ambiguity  of  this  kind,  because  it  happens  that 
many  persons  are  injured  by  it.  For  some  have  perished 
through  wealth,  but  others  through  fortitude.  We  must 
be  satisfied,  therefore,  in  speaking  about  and  from  such 
things,  if  we  can  indicate  the  truth  by  a  rude  adumbra- 
tion, and  if  our  conclusions  in  discussing  things  which 
have  a  frequency  of  subsistence  are  similar  in  accuracy 
to  the  thmgs  themselves.  After  the  same  manner,  like- 
wise,  it  is  requisite  to  admit  every  thing  that  has  been 
•ikl.  For  it  is  the  province  of  an  erudite  man  so  far  to 
investigate  the  accurate  in  each  genus  of  things,  as  the 
nature  of  the  thing  will  admit ;  since  it  appears  to  be  a 
similar  thing  to  assent  to  a  mathematician  when  speaking 
probably,  and  to  require  demonstrations  from  a  rhetori- 
cian.   Every  one,  however,  judges  well  of  those  things 


which  he  knows,  and  of  these  is  a  good  judge.     Hence, 
the  man  who  is  learned  in  any  thing,  judges  well  of  that  ( 
thing ;  but  he  in  short  forms  a  proper  judgment  about ' 
every  thing,  who  is  learned  in  every  thing.     Hence,  a 
youth  is  not  a  proper  auditor  of  the  political  science, 
for  he  is  unskilled  in  the  actions  pertaining  to  life.     But 
reasonings  are  from  and  about  these.     And  besides  this, 
if  he  yields  to  his  passions,  he  will  in  vain,  and  without 
any  advantage,   be  an  auditor  [of  ethical  doctrines ;] 
since  the  end  here  is  not  knowledge,  but  action.     It 
makes,  however,  no  difference  whether  a  person  is  a 
youth  as  to  his  age,  or  has  juvenile  manners.     For  the 
defect  is  nqt  frorn  time,  but  from  living,  and  engaging 
jf>  every  pursuit  from  passion  ;   since  the  knowledge  of 
iugh  persons,  in  the  same  manner  as  that  of  the  intem- 
perate, is  useless.     But  a  knowledge  of  these  things  wJH^ 
be  v^ry  advantageous  to  those  whose  appetites  and  actions 
are  conformable  to  reason.     And  thus  much  by  way  pf 
preface  concerning  the  auditor  [of  ethics,]  how  he  ought 
to  admit  [discussions  of  this  kind,]  and  what  we  propose 
£to  consider  in  this  treatise.] 


I 


8 


THE  NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  I. 


CHAP.  IV. 


ETHICS. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


Repeating,  therefore,  what  we  have  said,  since  all 
knowledge  and  deliberate  choice  aspires  after  a  certain 
*  good,  let  us  show  what  that  is  which  we  say  the  political 
science  desires,  and  what  the  supreme  good  is  of  all 
actions.  By  name,  therefore,  it  is  nearly  acknowledged 
by  most  men ;  for  both  the  vulgar  and  the  learned  call 
it  felicity.  But  they  conceive  that  to  live  well  and  to 
act  well,  are  the  same  thing  as  to  be  happy.  Concerning 
felicity,  however,  what  it  is,  they  are  dubious ;  and  the 
multitude  do  not  form  the  same  opinion  of  it  as  the  wise. 
For  some  of  them  indeed  conceive  it  to  rank  among  the 
number  of  things  which  are  clear  and  evident,  such  as 
pleasure,  or  wealth,  or  honour ;  but  others  assert  it  to 
be  something  else.  Frequently,  likewise,  the  same  per- 
son forms  a  different  opinion  of  it ;  for  when  diseased 
he  conceives  It  to  be  health,  but  when  poor,  riches. 
And  those  who  are  conscious  of  their  ignorance,  admire 
those  who  assert  something  grand,  and  above  their  com- 
prehension. Some  too,  besides  these  many  goods,  ai'e 
of  opinion  that  there  is  another  good  subsisting  by  itself, 
which  is  the  cause  to  all  these  of  their  being  good.  To 
examine,  therefore,  all  the  opinions,  would  perhaps  be  a 
vain  undertaking  J  but  it  will  be  sufficient  to  consider 


\ 


those  that  are  most  eminent,  or  which  appear  to  be  in 
some  respect  reasonable.     We  must  not,  however,  be 
ignorant  that  arguments  from  principles  and  to  principles 
differ  from  each  other.     For  Plato  well  doubts  about 
and  investigates  this,  whether  the  way  is  from  principles 
or  to  principles ;  as  in  a  race  from  the  president  of  the 
games  to  the  goal,  or  the  contrary.     For  we  must  begin 
from  things  that  are  known.    But  these  subsist  in  a  two- 
fold  respect.     For  some  things  are  known  to  us,  but 
others  are  simply  known.    Perhaps,  therefore,  we  should 
begin  from  things  known  to  us.     Hence,  it  is  necessary 
that  the  auditor  of  discussions  about  things  beautiful  and 
just,  and  in  short  about  political  concerns,  if  he  is  to  be 
benefited,  should  be  adorned  with  worthy  manners.  For 
the  principle  Is  this,  that  the  thing  is  so  [viz.  that  certain 
actions  are  worthy,  and  others  are  unworthy;]  and  if 
this  is  sufficiently  apparent,  it  is  not  at  all  requisite  to 
know  *why  it  is  so.     But  such  a  one  either  possesses,  or 
will  easily  acquire  [ethical]  principles.     Let  him,  how- 
ever, who  has  neither  of  these,  hear  what  Heslod  says : 

He  the  first  rank  of  excellence  maintains 
Who  from  himself  in  ev'ry  thing  is  wise. 
And  what  ev'n  to  the  end  is  best  foresees  : 
He  too  is  good  who  yields  to  wise  advice. 
But  he  who  neither  from  himself  is  wise. 
Nor  to  assent  to  others  can  endure, 
Is  but  a  useless,  despicable  man. 


10 


THE  l^ICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  I. 


CHAPTER  V, 


\^-' 


Let  us,  however,  return  from  whence  we  have  di- 
gressed. For  it  seems  that  men  do  not  unreasonably 
form  an  opinion  of  good  and  felicity  from  [the  different 
kinds  of]  livep.  The  vulgar,  indeed,  and  the  most 
worthless  part  of  mankind,  place  felicity  in  pleasure; 
and  on  this  account  they  embrace  the  life  which  consist^ 
in  the  enjoyment  of  pleasure.  For  there  are  three  kind$ 
of  lives  which  especially  take  the  lead,  the  one  we  have 
just  mentioned,  the  political  life,  and  the  third  i$  th^ 
contemplative  life.  The  multitude,  therefore,  appear  to 
be  perfectly  servile,  deliberately  choosing  the  life  of 
cattle ;  and  they  support  their  opinion  by  the  example 
of  many  persons  in  power,  who  have  preferred  a  volup- 
tuous life,  and  have  lived  like  Sardanapalus.  But  men 
of  elegant  minds,  and  those  who  are  addicted  to  practical 
concerns,  place  felicity  in  honour  ;  for  thi$  is  nearly  the 
end  of  the  political  life.  This,  however,  appears  to  be 
more  superficial  than  the  good  which  is  the  object  of 
cur  investigation.  For  honour  seems  to  be  rather  in  the 
persons  that  honour,  than  in  him  who  is  honoured.  But 
we  prophesy  that  good  is  something  appropriate,  and  of 
vhich  it  is  difficult  to  deprive  its  possessor.  Farther 
still,  it  seems  that  men  pursue  honour  in  order  that  they 


v» 


CtTAP.  V. 


ETHICS. 


11 


may  believe  themselves  to  be  worthy  persons.     TheV 
seek,  therefore,  to  be  honoured  by  wise  men,  and  by 
those  to  whom  they  are  known,  and  with  a  view  to  virtue 
It  IS  evident,  therefore,  that  according  to  these  men  virtue 
IS  more  excellent  than  honour.    Perhaps,  however,  some 
one  may  apprehend  that  this   [viz.  virtue]  is  rather  the 
end  of  the  political  life.     But  even  this  appears  to  be 
more  imperfect  [than  the  chief  good  ought  to  be]     For 
It  appears  to  be  possible  that  he  who  possesses  virtue 
may  sleep,  or  be  unemployed  through  the  whole  of  his 
life,  and  besides  this  may  be  afflicted  with  evils,  and  ex 
perience  the  greatest  misfortunes.     But  no  one  wculd 
proclaim  a  man  thus  living  to  be  happy,  unless  for  the 
purpose   of   defending  his  position.  '   And  concerning 
these  things  indeed  enough;  for  we  have  spoken  suffi- 
ciently about  them  in  our  miscellaneous  writings.     But 
the  third  life  is  the  contemplative,  which  we  shall  make 
the  object   of   our   consideration  hereafter.     The  life 
however,  which  is  engaged  in  the  acquisition  of  riches' 
is  a  certain  violent  life,  and  it  is  evident  that  wealth  is\ 
not  the  good  which  we  investigate  ;  for  wealth  is  useful,  \ 
and  for  the  sake  of  something  else.     Hence,  the  things 
which  have  been  before  mentioned  may  be  considered 
as  ends  rather  than  wealth  ;  for  they  are  loved  on  their 
own  account.     It  appears,  however,  that  neither  does 
felicity  consist  in  these ;   though  many  arguments  arc 
adduced  to  prove  that  it  does.     These  things,  therefore, 
we  shall  dismiss. 


12 


THE  NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  I. 


CHAP.  VI. 


ETHICS. 


13 


CHAPTER  VI. 


Perhaps,  however,  It  is  better  to  consider  universal 
good,  and  inquire  how  it  is  said  to  subsist,  though  such 
an  inquiry  as  this  will  be  arduous,  because  the  men  who 
have  introduced  ideas  are  our  friends.^      But  it  may 

'  Nothing  can  show  m  a  clearer  point  of  view  that  Aristotle  was 
V^  not  in  reality  hostile  to  the  Platonic  doctrine  of  ideas,  than  the  obj 

^  jections  which  he  adduces  against  the  existence  of  good  considered 

as  subsisting  by   itself,   and  the  cause  of  all  participated  good. 
For  the  facility  with  which  his  objections  may  be  answered,  sum- 
ciently  proves  what  we  have  elsewhere  observed,  that  his  opposition 
to  this  doctrine  of  Plato  is  made  by  him  with  no  other  view  than 
to  guard  it  from  being  perverted  by  men  of  superficial  ""^^1^^^^^^^ 
ines.    Previous,  therefore,  to  a  solution  of  the  objections  of  Ans- 
tode,  it  will  be  requisite  to  relate  briefly  the  opinion  of  Plato  con- 
teming  the  good.    The  principle  of  the  universe  then  was  divinely 
denominated  by  Plato,  the  one,  and  the  good,  the  former  of  these 
appellations  denoting  his  transcendent  simplicity,  and  causality, 
and  the  latter  his  subsistence  as  the  object  of  desire  to  all  thmgs. 
This  principle,  likewise,  as  being  the  one,  is  celebrated  by  Plato  as 
superessential,  because  being,  so  far  as  being,  cannot  subsist  with- 
out multitude.     All  things,  therefore,  derive  their  subsistence  from 
this  principle  through  its  goodness,  and  are  expanded  towards  and 
aspire  after  it,  as  from  thence  deriving  the  perfection  and  good 
which  they  are  naturally  adapted  to  receive. 

When  Aristotle,  therefore,  says,  -  Perhaps  it  is  better  to  consider 
unirersal  good,-  the  univmal  here  must  not  be  understood  in  the 


perhaps  seem  to  be  better,  and  indeed  necessary  to  the 
salvation  of  truth,  to  subvert  the  opinions  even  of  our 
friends.  For  both  being  our  friends  [i.  e.  Plato  and 
truth,]  it  is  holy  to  give  the  preference  to  truth.  Those, 
however,  who  have  introduced  this  opinion,  do  not  make 
ideas  of  things  in  which  they  admit  there  are  the  prior 
and  the  posterior.  Hence,  neither  do  they  establish  an 
idea  of  numbers.  But  good  is  predicated  of  essence, 
of  quality,  and  of  relation.  That,  however,  which  has 
a  subsistence  *per  se,  and  essence,  are  naturally  prior  to 
that  which  subsists  as  a  relative.  For  this  [i.  e.  a  relative] 
resembles  the  branch  of  a  tree,  and  an  accident  of  being ; 
so  that  there  will  not  be  a  common  idea  in  these.  Again, 
good  is  predicated  in  as  many  ways  as  being ;  for  it  is 
predicated  in  essence,  as  god  and  intellect,  [which  are ^ 
essences  and  are  said  to  be  good ;]  and  in  quality,  as  the 
virtues ;  in  quantity,  as  the  moderate  ;  in  relation,  as 
utility  ;  in  time,  as  occasion;  and  in  place,  as  a  habitation; 
and  after  the  same  manner  in  the  other  predicaments.  It  is 
evident,  therefore,  that  there  will  not  be  a  certain  common 
universal  and  one  good ;  for  it  would  not  be  predicated 

same  way  as  in  logical  speculations ;  for  there  the  universal  which 
is  predicated  of  many  things  is  of  posterior  origin,  but  here  it  is 
prior  to  the  many,  and  the  many  derive  their  subsistence  from  it. 
In  short,  as  all  ideas,  considered  according  to  their  first  subsistence 
in  a  divine  intellect,  are  tvholes  and  universals,  having  an  essence 
prior  to  and  exempt  from  the  forms  which  are  in  bodies,  much 
more  must  the  good  or  the  ineffable  principle  of  things  be  called 
universal,  as  being  the  whole  of  all  wholes,  and  comprehending  all 
things  in  itself  superessentially  and  ineffably.  Hence,  the  objec- 
tion of  Aristotle,  as  we  shall  see,  applies  only  to  that  universal 
good  which  is  the  subject  of  logical  predication,  and  not  to  that 
which  is  the  principle  of  the  universe  ;  for  the  former  is  posterior, 
but  the  latter  prior  to  the  many. 


14 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  I, 


in  all  the  categories,  but  In  one  alone. '  Farther  still,  since 
of  things  which  subsist  according  to  one  idea,  there  is 
also  on^  science,  of  all  goods  there  would  be  one  certain 
science;    but  now  there  are  many  sciences   of    things 


'  Plato,  as  we  have  before  observed,  denominated  the   one,  tfte 
ineffable^  and  the  good,  the  common  cause  of  all  beings,  and  arran^ 
ged  it  above  all  things ;  for  he  says  that  it  is  the  cause  of  all  things, 
but  is  no  one  of  all  things.     On  this  account  it  is  above  being,  and 
is  not  being  ;  not  as  falling  oiF  from  being,  but  as  situated  above  all 
being.     All  secondary  goods,  therefore,  are  referred  to  it  as  the 
common  good,  and  which  is  participated  by  all  goods.     For  every 
good  posterior  to  this  ineffable  principle,  being  something  else,  is 
good  according  to  the  participation  oi  it,  so  far  as  each  is  capable 
of  participating  of  it.     But  the  good  itself  has  a    super-expanded 
subsistence,  and  is  nothing  else  than  the  good.     On  this  account 
also,  it  is  properly  and  primarily  one,  as  not  to  be  surveyed  in  con- 
junction with  any  thing  else.     What  impossibility,  therefore,  will 
follow,  if  being  the  cause  of  all  things,  and  imparting  to  every  thing 
being,  which  is  predicated  according  to   the    ten  categories,  it  is 
said  to  be  common  to  all  tilings,  as  being  their  cause,  and  the  uni- 
versal good,  as  being  prior  to  all  that  multitude  of  goods,  to  which 
it  imparts  being  and  goodness,  and  which  by  the  participation  of 
and  relation  to  it,  are  said  to  be  good  ?  Aristotle,  indeed,  himself, 
in  the  beginning  of  this  treatise  praises  those  who  assert  the  good 
to  be  that  which  all  things  desire  ;   so  that  by  using  the  words  the 
good,  and  which  ail  things  desire,  it  is  evident  that  he  accords   with 
v^ Plato  in  acknowledging  the  first  and  most  universal  good.     For  by 
1  Plato  and  his  disciples,  the  term,  the  good,  is  given  to  the  first  and 
universal  good.     And  Aristotle,  by  adding  tvhich  all  things  desire, 
(^vinces  that  this  is  the  most  ui>iversal  and  the  first  good.     For  if 
^11   things  desire   it,  it  is  n^essarily  above  all  things  ;  since  the 
term  all  does  not  permit/us  to  conceive  any  being  external  to  it, 
But  the  good  is  above  ati  things,  the  first,  the  most  causal,  and  the 
most  universal  of,ail  things,  not  as  in,   nor  as  secondary  to  the 
many ;  for  hgyr  can  that  which  is  first  desire  that  which  is  second  ? 
It  is  evi^fcfit,  therefore,  that  Aristotle  does  not  in  reality  oppose 
the  doctrine  of  Plato  concerning  universal  good. 


CHAP.  VI, 


ETHICS, 


15 


which  are  under  one  category.  Thus,  for  instance,  widi 
occasion  the  art  of  commanding  an  army  is  conversant  in 
war,  but  the  medical  art  in  disease.  And  with  the  two- 
derate  indeed,  the  medical  art  is  conversant  in  food,  but 
the  gymnastic  art  in  labour.  '    It  may,  however,  be  doubt- 

'  Again,  it  is  evident  that  what  Aristode  now  says,  does  not  bv 
any  means  subvert  the  subsistence  of  the  first  good,  and  which  is 
nothmg  else  than />5.  ^00^.  For  that  it  is  this  which  benefits  aU 
things;  and  that  every  thing  by  an  analogous  participation  of  it  is 
said  to  be  good,  w.ll  not  be  doubted  by  any  one  endued  with  intel- 
lect.  For  what  if  one  thing  is  more  good,  but  another  less,  or 
If  one  thmgis  nearer  to,  but  another  more  remote  from  it ;  or  if 
one  thmg  is  good  per  se,  i.e.  essentially,  as  health  of  body,  and 
vimie  of  soul ;  but  another  thing  is  sometbing  which  contributes 
to  these,  as  diet  and  exercise,  and  a  certain  medicine  and  remedy  ; 

tl        '""n    ?'^  ^''"^^^  '"^"^'  ""^  ^''"P^"^'^^  ^     For  there  is  an 

•?h?  h  ">  l.'"^.''  ''  '^"'  ^'"^"^  '^'^  ""^  ^^^'"^  i^  ^^^  honour, 
able,  but  another  is  second,  and  another  is  third  in  honour,   and  so 

Zn  J  f '^f  ^^";^'^^  °^  Sood  also  is  present  with  every  thin;, 
according  to  its  order.  And  if  order  is  good,  as  disorder  is  evil  t! 
bemgs,  how  IS  It  reasonable  to  suppose  that  good  should  not  be 
>mpar  ed  to  things  in  an  orderly  manner  >   Or  will  any  one  require 

a^niLeTI^  f -r/r  ''  ^^r  ^^"^'  ^^  ^  '-''^  '-^>  -^  ^  ^^• 

a.  nature  ?    But  ,f  this  were  the  case,  the  difference  of  all  beings, 
their  essence,  and  their  order,  would  be  subverted;  nor  would^here 

or.ttL  "     ifr''  ^"  •''^""  transcendent,^if  this  be  the  case, 
"eTrert  tr^.     "'""^'  ""^  ^^'^"  ''^^--'  -<i  --^  will  b^ 

Te  Sffeirft  and'  I  V""^^""  ''"  '''''''     '''  ''^''''^'  ^^^^ 
rty.    p   aicj)   to  each,  and  appropriately  survey  each,  ind  th«t  it 


16 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  I. 


epAP.  VI. 


ETHICS. 


17 


cd  what  their  intention  is  in  denominating  every  idea  iU 
self,  since  in  man  itself,  and  in  man,  there  is  one  and  the 
same  definition  of  man ;  for  so  far  as  man  there  is  no 
difierence  between  them.     But  if  this  be  the  case,  neither 

should  frame  arts  and  sciences  conformably  to  the  genera  and  spe- 
cies  of  things,  and  survey  their  natures  according  to  that  which 
is  anabgous  in  each  ?  For  intellect  being  liberated  from  matter  and 
body,  surveys  all  things  collectively  and  at  once,  and  comprehends 
things  multiplied  unitedly,  impartibly,  things  which  are  numerated 
specifically,  and  indivisibly  things  which  are  divisible.     But  soul 
desires  indeed  to  comprehend  the  collected  energy  of  mtellect,  as- 
piring after  the  perfection  it  contains,  and  the  one  simple  form  of 
its  intellection.     Not  being  able,  however,  to  obtain  the  at-once- 
collected  intelligence  of  intellect,  it  runs  and  as  it  were  circularly 
dances  round  intellect,  and  by  the  transitions  of  its  projections  di- 
vides  the  impartibility  of  forms.     Hence,  it   conceives   different 
modes  of  knowledge,  in  order  that  applying  itself  appropriately  to 
each  object  of  knowledge,  it  may  acquire  a  knowledge  of  allthmgs. 
For  as  a  different  nature  and  order  are  adapted  to  a  different  thmg, 
so  likewise  a  different  mode  of  knowledge  is  adapted  to  a  different 
thing,  viz.  when  the  knowledge  is  co-ordinate  to  the  thing  known. 
As    therefore,  there  is  not  the  same  co-ordinate  knowledge  of  all 
beings  so  far  as  beings,  so  neither  of  all  partial  goods  is  there  one 
co-ordinate  knowledge  so  far  as  they  are  good,  nor  of  occasions, 
so  far  as  they  are  occasions,  nor  of  things  moderate,  so  far  as  they 
are  moderate,  nor  of  other  things  which  are  assumed  similarly  to 
these.     And  as  it  is  by  no  means  wonderful  if  each  being,  so  far  as 
each  is  this  thing  or  that,  as  for  instance,  physical,  or   mathema- 
tical, or  divine,  and  still  farther  celestial  or  terrestrial,  aquatic  or 
aerial,  or  fiery,  and  so  of  the  rest,  and  that  they  are^cnown  by  diffe- 
rent modes  of  knowledge  ;  thus  also  the  mode  of  co-ordmate  know- 
ledge by  which  occasion,  or  the  moderate,  or  any  thing  else  is 
known,  is  different.     Hence,  all  goods  as  participating  of  one  first 
good  are  referred  to  one,  and  it  will  be  the  province  of  the  same 
science  to  know  all  of  them,  as  referred  to  and  participating  of  it; 
but  so  far  as  each  has  a  subsistence  by  itself,  and  so  far  as  it  is 
this  particular  thing,  it  pertains  to  a  different  art  and   science 
adapted  to  its  proper  nature  and  perfection. 


SO  far  as  good  [will  be  good  itself  and  goods  differ ;]'  nor 
will  it  be  in  a  greater  degree  good,  from  being  eternal ; 
smce  neither  is  that  which  is  white  for  a  long  time,  more 
white  than  that  which  is  white  only  for  one  day.  *     The 

^  In  order  to  solve  the  doubt  of  Aristotle,  it  may  be  asked  how 
the  good  ^\\\  be  the  same,  and  subsist  after  the  same  manner,' in  an 
immaterial  and  material  nature,  in  an  image  and  its  paradigm,  in 
that  which  is  simple,  and  that  which  is  composite,  and  in  that 
which  subsists  according  to  participation,  and  that  which  is  im- 
particpable  ?  Or  how  can  there  be  the  same  definition  of  the  very 
nature  of  a  thing,  in  things  so  separated  from  each  other  as  we 
have  mentioned,  unless  the  image  and  its  archetype  received  the 
defimtion  of  essence  after  the  same  manner?  Besides,  according  to 
Aristotle  himself,  in  things  material  and  physical,  the  definition  is 
then  perfect  when  matter  and  form  concur  with  each  other;  but 
It  we  should  assume  the  same  definitions  in  things  immaterial,  im- 
material will  be  material  natures.  This,  however,  is  impossible. 
There  will  not,  therefore,  be  the  same  definitions  of  things  prior  to 
material,  and  material  entities. 

*  It  may,  however,  be  said  in  answer  to  this,  that  eternal  good  is 
in  a  greater  degree  good  than  that  which  is  ephemeral      For  if 
being  is  to  every  thing  better  than  non-being,  to  exist  perpetually 
will  be  better  than  to  exist  only  for  a  time ;  since  when  existence 
IS  cut  off  from  that  which  exists  only  for  a  time,  then  it  is  not  bein^ 
but  non-being ;  and  the  eternal  then  existing,  is  better  than  non' 
being.     A  more  excellent  good,  however,  is  said  to  be  more  excel- 
lent by  intension  ;  but  that  in  which  the  essence  of  good  has  inten- 
sion,  is  in  a  greater  degree  good.    Neither  is  there  the  same  com- 
parison with  each  other,  of  that  which  endures  for  a  long,  with 
that  which  endures  for  a  short  time,  and  of  the  eternal  with  that 
which  continues  only  for  a  day.    For  that  which  continues  for  a 
short,  and  that  which  continues  for  a  long  time,  may  partake  of  the 
same  nature  ;  but  that  which  is  eternal,  and  that  which  is  ephe- 
meral,  cannot.     For  as  that  which  is  ephemeral  consists  of  a  mate- 
rial  and  flowing  essence,  and  is  indeed  passing  into  existence,  but 
never  really  is,  so  the  eternal   consists  of  an  immaterial  and  un- 
flowing  essence,  and  has  real  being,  and  is  above  generation. 

ArkU  VOL.  II,  jB 


/ 


18 


THE   NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  h 


Pythagoreans,  however,  appear  to  speak  more  probably 
concerning  the  good ;    for  they  place  the  one  in  the  co- 
ordination of  things  good  ;  whom  Speusippus  also  seems 
to  have  followed.     But  the  discussion  of  these  things  per- 
tains  to  another  treatise. '     A  certain  doubt,  however, 
presents  itself  concerning  the  particulars  we  have  just 
mentioned,  because  reasons  are  not  assigned  concerning 
every  good ;  but  things  which  are  of  themselves  the  ob- 
jects  of  pursuit  and  love,  are  predicated  according  to  one 
species ;  and  those  things  which  are  effective  of  these, 
or  in  a  certain  respect  preserve  them,   or  impede  their 
contraries,  are  predicated  on  account  of  these,  and  after 
another   manner.     It  is   evident,  therefore,  that  goods 
may  be  predicated  in  two  ways ;  and  that  some  thmgs, 


'  Pythagoras  made  two  co-ordinations  of  things,  one  as  fol- 

lows : 

Finite 

Straight 

Odd 

Light 

One 

Square 

Right 

Rest 

Male 

Good. 

But  the  other  is: 

' 

Infinite 

Crooked 

Even 

Darkness 

-Multitude 

Oblong 

Left 

Motion 

Female 

Evil. 

The  Pythagoreans,  however,  by  placing  the  one  in  the  co-ordma- 
tion  of  thines  good,  indicated  its  perfective  and  preserving  nature. 
For  every  thing  is  perfected  in  this,  and  is  benefited  and  presenred 
by  abiding  in  unity,  since  it  is  thus  undissipated  and  undivided. 
But  when  it  loses  its  oneness,  it  also  loses  its  being. 


CHAP.  vr. 


ETHICS. 


19 


indeed,  are  good  per  se,  but  others  are  good  on  account  ] 
of  these.    Separating,  therefore,  goods  per  se  from  things  ' 
useful,  let  us  consider  whether  they  are  predicated  accord- 
ing to  one  idea.     But  what  kind  of  goods  can  be  said  to 
be  good  per  se  ?  Are  they  such  as  are  pursued  alone, 
apart  from  other  things,  such  as  to  be  wise,  to  see,  and 
some  pleasures  and  honours  ?  For  these,  though  we  pur- 
sue  them  on  account  of  something  else,  yet  at  the  same 
time  may  be  ranked  by  some  one  among  goods  which 
are  good  per  se.     Or  is  the  good  per  se  nothing  else  ex-i 
cept  idea  ?     Form,  therefore,  or  idea,  will  be  vain.'     But 
if  these  also  rank  among  goods  which  are  good  per  se. 
It  will  be  requisite  that  the  same  definition  of  the  good 
should  be  conspicuous  in  all  of  them,  just  as  there  is  the 
same  definition  of  whiteness  in  snow  and  ceruse  ;  but  of 
honour,  and  prudence,  and  pleasure,  there  will  be  other 
and  different  definitions,  so  far  as  they  are  goods.     The 
good,  therefore,  is  not  something  common  according  to 
one  idea.'    In  what  manner,  however,  is  it  said  that  there 

■  If,  however,  to  be  wise,  to  see,  the  pleasure  arising  from  con- 
templation,  and  the  honour  of  wise  men,  are,  as  Aristotle  says,  goods 
per  se,  yet  they  are  not  so  per  se  as   subsisting  from  and  by  fhem- 
selves,  as  the  archetypes  of  other  things  which  are  images,  and  ener- 
gizmg  so  as  to  generate  things  similar  to  themselves  ;  for  such  are 
the  prerogatives  of  ideas  according  to  Plato.     But  they  are  said  to 
be  per  se,  not  as  essences,  but  as  things  to  be  pursued  on  their  own 
account.     Aristotle,  therefore,  cannot  be  serious  in  what  he  says, 
since  the  objection  is  sophistical,  arising  from  the  term  per  se  being 
predicated  multifariously. 

'  If,  however,  according  to  Aristotle,  those  things  are  good  per 
se,  which  are  alone  objects  of  pursuit,  and  are -not  desired  for  the 
sake  of  something  else,  and  this  definition  according  to  him  is  adapted 
to  all  tlie  goods  he  has  enumerated,  and  to  such  others  as  are  of  the 
same  kind,  will  there  not  be  one  definition  in  aU  of  them  so  far  as 
they  are  goods  ?     For  the  question  is  not  whether  so  far  as  honour, 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  I. 


20 

is  one  idea  of  the  good  ?  For  it  does  -t  resemble  tW^^^^^ 
which  are  fortuitously  homonymous.  Is  it  be^^!^  '^ 
goods  are  from  one  and  are  referred  to  one  good  ?  Or  .s 
ft  rather  according  to  analogy  ?  For  as  s.ght  is  m  the 
body,  so  is  intellect  in  the  soul,  and  another  thmg  m  ano- 
ZJ  Perhaps,  however,  these  things  must  be  omuted 
^present  j  for  the  accurate  discussion  of  them  wdl  be 

and  wisdom,  and  pleasure,  there  is  no  -  "^f  f  ;;^f;5,t 
whether  there  is  one  definit.on  of  the'n  so  fo  as  tW  a  g  ^^ 
What  hinders  then  there  be.ng  a  cenam  .de  o  goodj  ^^^^  ^^ 
■which  goods  per  se  are  referred  ?    And,  m  the  n       p  ^^ 

these  is'  not  said  to  be  good  by  an  equal  ^l^^^^^J^^;^^^,^  ,„  ^e 
white  things  said  to  ^e  equally -h.te.  For  as  h^^^^^^^^ 

°"'    ff  Ted  afor  tte  same  manner  in  all  of  them,  thus,  also,  there 
rr:r"S:o^:or.-jchallgoods^.erse^^^^ 

*-^  1 1  X:tt = r;.-  "  P^Satea  is^ne  thing, 
same  form,    rhe  good  ^^^  ^^^  ^^  i„part.c.pable  sub- 

and  that  which  .s  f^/J^^y^^^/^^^.^^bsistent  with  any  thing  subordu 
,3«nce,  --'^'^X^Je  multitude  of  resemblances,  and  which 
nate,  is  another ,  to  wn.cn  ^^^^  ^^  ^^^^^  ^^^^ 

differ  f--rV'  Tfro^  Siipation  is  evident  from  this,  that 
is  and  is  said  to  be  good  from  partu:  p  participation. 

each  of  these  is  ,^o^  e^^f^J^J:  ,o:helparticipable.  to  which 
•it  is  evident  that  it  wiU  be  accoraing 

the  participations  are  referred.  j^  ^^.^  j-^.^^ 

.  Ideas  do  not  subsist  m  this  way.  but  as  tiding  .^  ^^ 

themselves,  and  as  wholes  -  J  Pf"^S;tes  of  i  referred  to.  and 

.ith  respect  to  a  -^'^^^^^^^  J'^'fjl^T^le  ;^n.X,...s  of  ideas 
resembles  it.    The  similitude,  however,  ot  t      p         F^^      ^^^^_ 

.0  ideas  themselves  ^^^^^  .^I'^eans  r.seLles  the 
bles  its  archetype,  but  the  ^^^^^^J^^     '  ^^  ^^  ^  common 

i.age  ;  .nee  if  ^^^^^  fdet  Wd  be  requisite  from 
similitude  between  the  two,  another  ^    ^^^^ 

which  this  similitude  is  derived,  and  thus  there  wou 
sion  to  infinity. 


8«MteaaaBasBa«iijfct 


CHAP.  VI. 


ETHICS. 


21 


better  adapted  to  another  philosophy.     And  in  a  similar 
manner  concerning  idea.     For  even  if  there  is  some  one 
good  which  is  predicated  in  common,  Or  which  is  some- 
thing itself  separate  by  itself,  it  is  evident  that  it  can  nei- 
ther be  practicable,  nor  acquired  by  man.     But  now  that 
which  is  practicable  by  man,  and  which  he  may  obtain,  is 
the  object  of  investigation.  Perhaps,  however,  the  know- 
ledge of  this  separate  good  may  to  some  one  appear  to  be 
better  with  respect  to  those  goods  which  may  be  acquired, 
and  which  are  practicable.     For  having  this  as  an  exem- 
plar, we  may  in  a  greater  degree  know  those  things  which 
are  good  for  us,  and  by  knowing  may  more  easily  obtain 
them.     This  assertion,  therefore,   has  indeed  a  certain 
probability,  but  it  seems  to  be  dissonant  to  the  sciences. 
For  all  the  sciences  aspire  after  a  certain  good,  and  inves- 
tigate that  which  is  wanting,  omitting  the  knowledge  of 
it ;  though  it  is  not  reasonable  to  suppose  that  all  artists 
are  ignorant  of  and  do  not  search  for  an  aid  of  such  great 
importance.     It  is  likewise  dubious   what  advantage  a. 
weaver  or  a  carpenter  would  derive  to  their  arts  from  the 
knowledge  of  the  good  itself ;  or  how  he  who  surveys 
the  idea  itself  of  the  good,  will  become  more  skilled  in 
medicine,  or  in  commanding  an  army.'     For  it  appears 

■  Though  a  survey  of  the  idea  itself  of  the  good  may  be  of  no 
service  to  the  arts,  and  for  the  common  purposes  of  the  merely  ani- 
mal life,  yet  we  may  say  with  Plato  in  the  7th  book  of  his  Repub- 
lic, that  «  He  who  is  not  able  by  the  exercise  of  his  reasoning  power 
to  define  the  idea  of  the  good,  separating  it  from  all  other  objects, 
and  piercing,  as  in  a  battle,  through  every  kind  of  argument ;  en- 
deavouring to  confute,  not  according  to  opinion,  but  according  to 
essence,  and  proceeding  through  all  the  dialectical  energies  with  an 
unshaken  reason,  is  in  the  present  life  sunk  in  sleep,  and  conversant 
with  the  delusions  of  dreams  ;  and  that  before  he  is  roused  to  a  vigi- 
lant state,  he  will  descend  to  Hades,  and  be  overwhelmed  with  a 
sleep  perfectly  profound.?* 


i 


22 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  I. 


GHAP.  VII. 


ETHICS. 


23 


that  the  physician  does  not  in  this  way  consider  health, 
but  that  he  considers  the  heahh  of  man,  and  perhaps  ra- 
ther the  heahh  of  this  particular  man.  For  he  restores 
to  health  an  individual.  And  thus  much  concerning 
these  things. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


Now,  however,  let  us  return  to  the  investigated  good, 
and  show  what  it  is.  For  it  appears  that  there  is  a  diffe- 
rent good  in  a  different  action  and  art ;  since  there  is  one 
good  in  the  medical  art,  another  in  the  art  of  command- 
ing an  army,  and  in  a  similar  manner  in  the  remaining 
arts.  What  therefore  is  the  good  in  each  ?  Is  it  not 
that  for  the  sake  of  which  other  things  are  eflfected  by 
that  art  ?  But  this  in  the  medical  art  indeed  is  health,  in 
the  art  of  commanding  an  army  is  victory,  in  the  art  of 
building  a  house,  is  a  house,  and  something  else  in  another 
art.  And  in  every  action  and  deliberate  choice  it  is  the 
end ;  since  all  of  them'  perform  other  things  for  the  sake 
of  this.  Hence,  if  there  is  one  certain  end  of  all  actions 
this  will  be  the  practical  good ;  but  if  there  are  many 
ends,  these  will  be  practical  goods.   The  reasoning,  how- 

■  i.  e.  Every  art,  action,  and  deliberate  choice. 


ever,   in  its  transition  arrives  at  the  same  thing  [as  was^ 
asserted  by  us  in  the  beginning.]'     But  we  must  endea- 
vour  to  render  this  still  more  clear.     Because,  therefore, 
it  appears  that  there  are  many  ends,  and  of  these  we 
choose  some  on  account  of  others,  such  as  wealth,  flutes, 
and,  in  short,  instruments ;  it  is  evident  that  all  ends  are- 
not  perfect.     That  however  which  is  most  excellent,  ap- 
pears to  be  something  perfect ;  so  that  if  there  is  only- 
one  certain  perfect  end,  this  will  be  what  we  investigate  ; 
but  if  there  are  many,  it  will  be  the  most  perfect  of  these. 
We  denominate,  however,  that  which  is  pursuable  for  its^i 
own  sake,  more  perfect  than  that  which  is  pursuable  for 
the  sake  of  something  else ;  and  that  which  is  never  eli- 
gible on  account  of  another  thing,  than  things  which  are 
eligible  both  on  their  own  account,  and  for  the  sake  of 
something  else."    In  short,  the  completely  perfect  is  that/ 
which  is  always  eligible  on  its  own  account,  and  never  on 
account  of  something  else.     Felicity,  however,  especially  f 
appears  to  be  a  thing  of  this  kind  ;  for  we  always  choose  [ 
this  on  its  own  account,  and  never  on  account  of  any  ' 
thing  else.     But  we  choose  honour,  and  pleasure,  and  in- 
tellect, and  every  virtue,  on  their  own  account,  indeed, 
(for  though  we  should  derive  no  farther  advantage  than 
what  the  possession  of  them  affords,  yet  each  of  them 
would  be  the  object  of  our  choice)  yet  we  also  choose 

'  Viz.  That  the  end  of  every  action  will  be  good,  and  that  which 
is  most  excellent. 

*  Some  things  are  eligible  solely  on  their  own  account,  as  joy  and 
happiness  :  others  are  eligible  on  their  own  account  and  for  the  sake 
of  something  else,  as  health,  sight,  and  wisdom  ;  for  they  are  not 
only  in  themselves  desirable,  but  also  for  the  sake  of  felicity  i  and 
other  things  are  eligible  for  the  sake  of  other  things  only,  su^  as 
bodily  labour,  taking  medicine  when  ill,  the  practice  of  physic,  and 
of  the  other  arts. 


'41 


24 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  I« 


CHAP.  VH. 


ETHICS, 


25 


them  for  the  sake  of  felicity.     No  one,  however,  chooses 
felicity  for  the  sake  of  these,  nor,  in  short,  for  the  sake 
of  any  thing  else.     The  same  thing  also  appears  to  hap- 
pen  from  that  which  enables  a  man  to  be  sufficient  to 
himself;  for  perfect  good  appears  to  be  self-sufficient. 
But  we  call  the  self-sufficient  that  which  is  not  only  suffi- 
cient  to  him  who  lives  a  solitary  life,  but  which  is  also 
sufficient  to  parents,  and  children,  to  a   wife,    and,  in 
short,  to  friends  and  fellow-citizens ;  since  man  is  natu- 
rally a  political  animal.      A  certain  boundary,  however, 
must  be  assumed  of  these  things ;  for  if  good  is  to  be 
extended  to    parents   and   their   offspring,   and   to  the 
friends  of  friends,  there  will  be  a  procession  to  infinity. 
But  this,  indeed,  we  shall  consider  hereafter.     We  call, 
however,  the  self-sufficient  that  which  subsisting  by  itself 
alone  makes  life  eligible,  and  in  want  of  nothing.     But 
we  think  that  felicity  is  a  thing  of  this  kind.     And  be- 
sides  this,  we  think  that  it  is  the  most  eligible   of  all 
things,  and  is  not  connumerated  [with  any  other  good;] 
for  if  it  were  connumerated  with  even  the  smallest  good,  it 
is  evident  that  it   would  be   more   eligible;   since  that 
which  is  added  would  become  an  excess  of  good.     But  a 
greater  good  is  always  more  eligible.     Felicity,  there- 
fore,  appears  to  be  something  perfect  and  sufficient  to 
•itself,  being  the  end  of  actions. 

Perhaps,  however,  to  say  that  felicity  is  the  best  of 
things,  is  to  assert  that  which  is  acknowledged  by  all  men ; 
but  it  is  requisite  that  we  should  yet  more  clearly  say 
what  it  is.  Perhaps,  therefore,  this  will  be  effected,  if 
the  work  of  man  is  assumed.  For  as  to  the  player  on 
the  flute,  to  the  statuary,  and  to  every  artist,  and  in  short 
to  those  who  have  a  certain  work  and  actbn,  the  good 


and  the  excellent  appear  to  be  in  the  work ;  this  also 
may  appear  to  be  the  case  with  man,  if  he  has  a  certain 
work.     Whether,  therefore,  are  there  certain  works  and 
actions  indeed  of  a  carpenter  and  a  shoe-maker ;  but  of 
man  is  there  no  work,  and  is  he  naturally  indolent  ?  Or 
shall  we  say,  that  as  of  the  eye,  the  hpnd  and  the  foot, 
and  in  short  of  each  of  the  parts  of  the  body,  there 
appears  to  be  a  certain  work,  so  likewise  of  man,  shall 
we  admit  that  besides  all  these  there  is  a  certain  work  ? 
What  then  will  this  work  be  ?  For  to  live  appears  to  be 
common  also  to  plants  [as  well  as  to  men].     But  the 
peculiar  work  of  man  is  now  investigated.     The  nutri- 
tive and  augmentative  life,  therefore,  must  be  rejected. 
And  a  certain  sensitive  life  will  be  consequent  to  this. 
It  appears,  however,  that  this  also  is  common  to  a  horse 
and  an  ox,  and  to  every  animal.     A  certain  practic  life, 
therefore,   accompanied    with   reason  remains.     But  of 
this,  one  kind  is  obedient  to  reason,  but  the  other  pos- 
sesses reason,  and  energizes  discursively.    Since  this  life, 
however,  is  predicated  in  a  twofold  respect  [i.  e.  accord- 
ing to  energy  and  according  to  habit,]  it  must  be  admitted 
to  subsist  according  to  energy ;  for  this  appears  to  be 
predicated  according  to  a  more  principal  mode  of  sub- 
sistence.    But  if  the  work  of  man  is  the  energy  of  soul 
according  to  reason,  or  not  without  reason ;  and  we  say 
that  the  same  thing  is  the  work  of  the  human  species 
and  of  a  worthy  man,  just  as  the  same  thing  is  the  work 
of  a  harper  and  of  a  good  harper,  and  in  short,  this  is 
the  case  in  all  things,  excellence  according  to  virtue  be- 
ing  added  to  the  work ;  for  the  work  of  a  harper  is  to 
play  on  the  harp,  and  of  a  good  harper  to  play  well  on 
it  J — if  this  be  the  case,  and  we  admit  the  work  of  man 
to  be  a  certain  life,  and  this  to  be  the  energy  of  the  soul, 


26 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  I« 


! 


and  actions  in  conjunction  with  reason,  but  by  a  worthy 
man,  these  things  are  well  and  beautifully  performed, 
and  every  thing  is  well  accomplished  according  to  its 
proper  virtue  ; — if  this  be  the  case,  human  good  will  be 
the  energy  of  soul  according  to  virtue.  But  if  there  are 
many  virtues,  it  will  be  the  energy  of  soul  according  to 
the  best  and  most  perfect  virtue  ;  and  besides  this,  in  a 
perfect  life.  For  as  one  swallow  does  not  make  spring, 
nor  one  day ;  so  neither  does  one  day,  nor  a  little  time, 
make  a  man  blessed  and  happy.  Let  this,  therefore, 
be  a  description  of  the  good ;  for  it  is  necessary,  perhaps, 
l^as  in  a  picture,]  first  to  delineate,  and  afterwards  add 
the  colours.  But  it  would  seem,  that  any  one  may  be 
able  to  educe,  and  distinctly  arrange  things  which  are 
well  delineated,  and  that  time  is  the  inventor  of,  or  a  good 
co-operator  with,  things  of  this  kind ;  whence,  also, 
accessions  are  made  to  the  arts ;  for  any  one  may  add  to 
what  is  wanting.  It  is  also  requisite  to  call  to  mind  what 
has  been  before  said,  and  not  to  search  for  accuracy 
similarly  in  all  things,  but  investigate  it  in  each  accord- 
ing to  the  subject  matter,  and  so  far  as  is  appropriate  to 
the  method  [pertaining  to  the  inquiry].  For  a  carpenter 
and  a  geometrician  investigate  a  right  angle  differently ; 
the  former,  indeed,  so  far  as  is  useful  to  his  work ;  but 
the  latter  explores  what  it  is,  or  what  the  quality  is  which 
it  possesses ;  for  he  is  a  contemplator  of  truth.  After 
the  same  manner,  therefore,  we  must  proceed  in  other 
things,  lest  what  is  superfluous  should  become  more 
abundant  than  the  works  themselves.  Neither  must  the 
cause  be  required  similarly  in  all  things,  but  in  some,  as, 
for  instance,  concerning  principles,  it  is  sufficient  to  have 
shown  properly  that  they  are.  But  the  subsistence  of  a 
thing  (to  oTt)  is  the  first  thing  and  the  principle.     Of 


CHAP.  yin. 


ETHICS. 


27 


principles,  however,  some  are  surveyed  by  induction, 
others  by  sense,  others  from  a  certain  custom,  and  others 
in  a  different  way.  But  we  should  endeavour  to  discuss 
every  thing,  so  far  as  its  nature  permits,  and  should 
earnestly  apply  ourselves  to  define  well ;  for  this  is  of 
great  importance  with  respect  to  what  is  consequent. 
The  principle,  therefore,  appears  to  be  more  than  half 
of  the  whole,  and  many  of  the  things  which  are  objects 
of  inquiry  become  manifest  through  it. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


Felicity,  therefore,  must  be  considered  by  us,  not 
only  from  the  conclusion,  and  the  particulars  from  which 
its  definition  consists,  but  also  from  the  assertions  of 
others  concerning  it.  For  every  thing  which  is  inherent 
in  a  thing  accords  with  the  truth ;  but  what  is  true  is 
rapidly  dissonant  with  what  is  false.  Since  goods,  there- 
fore, have  a  twofold  distribution,  and  some  of  them  are 
said  to  be  external,  but  others  pertain  to  the  soul  and  the 
body,  we  call  those  pertaining  to  the  soul,  the  most  pro- 
per and  principal  goods ;  but  we  place  the  psychical  * 


'  i.  e.  Pertaining  to  the  soul. 


\ 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  I. 


CHAP.  VIII. 


ETHICS. 


29 


actions  and  energies  about  the  soul.     Hence,  it  is  well 
said,  according  to  this  opinion,  which  is  ancient,  and 
assented  to  by  those  who  philosophize  [that  felicity  is  the 
energy  of  the  soul  according  to  virtue].    It  is  also  rightly 
said,  that  certain  actions  and  energies  constitute  the  end 
[i.  e.  felicity ;]  for  thus  felicity  will  consist  in  the  goods 
pertaining  to  the  soul,  and  not  in  external  goods.     With 
this  reasoning,  likewise,  the  assertions  accord,  that  the 
happy  man  lives  well,  and  acts  well ;  for  nearly  felicity 
will  be  a  certain  living  well  and  acting  well.     It  appears, 
moreover,  that  every  thing  which  is  sought  for  in  felicity 
is  inherent  in  the  definition  we  have  given  of  it.     For  to 
some,  indeed,  felicity  appears  to  be  virtue,  to  others  pru- 
dence, and  to  others,  a  certain  wisdom ;  but  to  others  it 
appears  to  be  these  things,  or  some  one  of  these,  accom- 
panied with  pleasure,  or  not  without  pleasure.     Others, 
also,  comprehend  [in  the  definition  of  felicity,]  external 
affluence.     But  of  these  opinions,  some  are  supported 
by  the  authority  of  many  and  ancient  men,  and  others 
by  a  few  and  renowned  men.    It  is  not,  however,  reason- 
able to  suppose  that  either  of  these  have  wholly  erred, 
but  that  they  have  erred  in  some  one  particular,  and  are 
right  in  most  things.     With  those,  therefore,  who  say 
that  felicity  is  every  virtue,  or  a  certain  virtue,  our  asser- 
tion accords ;  for  it  is  the  energy  of  the  soul  according 
to  virtue.     Perhaps,  however,  it  differs  in  no  small  de- 
gree to  conceive  that  what  is  most  excellent  consists  in 
possession,  or  to  conceive  that  it  consists  in  use,  and 
that  it  consists  in  habit,  or  in  energy.     For  it  is  possible 
that  habit  when  inherent,  may  be  effective  of  no  good, 
as  in  him  who  is  asleep,  or  who  in  some  other  way  is 
inactive ;  but  this  cannot  be  the  case  with  energy.     For 
he  [who  possesses  virtue  in  energy]  necessarily  acts,  and 


acts  well.     But  as  in  the  Olympic  games,  not  the  most 
beautiful  and  the  strongest  are  crowned,  but  those  who 
contend ;  for  some  of  these  are  victorious;  so  those  who 
act  rightly  obtain  those  things  in  life  which  are  beautiful 
and  good.     The  life  also  of  these  is  in  itself  delectable 
[independent  of  external  pleasure].    For  to  be  delighted, 
is  among  the  number  of  things  pertaining  to  the  soul. 
But  to  every  one,  that  is  delightful  of  which  he  is  said  to 
be  a  lover ;  as  a  horse,  to  a  lover  of  horses ;  and  a  spec- 
tacle, to  a  lover  of  spectacles.     After  the  same  manner, 
also,  just  things  are  delightful  to  a  lover  of  justice,  and 
in  short  what  pertains  to  virtue  to  a  lover  of  virtue. 
Things,  therefore,  delectable  to  the  multitude  are  hostile 
to  each  other,  because  they  are  not  naturally  delightful  j 
but  to  the  lovers  of  what  is  beautiful  in  conduct,  those 
things  are  delectable  which  are  delectable  by  nature  ;  and 
such  are  the  actions  according  to  virtue ;  so  that  they 
are  delectable  to  these,  and  are  so  per  se.     The  life  also 
of  these,  is  not  at  all  in  want  of  pleasure,  as  a  certain 
appendage,  but  contains  pleasure  in  itself.     For  in  addi- 
tion  to  what  has  been  said,  he  is  not  a  good  man  who 
does  not  rejoice  in  beautiful  actions ;  for  neither  would 
any  one  call  him  just,  who  does  not  rejoice  in  acting 
justly,  nor  him  liberal,  who  does  not  rejoice  in  liberal 
actions :  and  in  a  similar  manner  in  the  other  virtues. 
If  this,  however,  be  the  case,  actions  according  to  virtue 
will  be  of  themselves  delectable ;  but  they  are  also  good 
and  beautiful,  and  especially  each  of  these,  if  the  worthy 
man  judges  well  concerning  them ;  but  he  judges  in  the 
way  we  have  said.     Felicity,  therefore,  is  a  thing  most 
excellent,    most  beautiful,  and  most    delectable.     Nor 
are  these  to  be  separated  from  each  other  according  to 
the  Delian  inscription :    "  That  which  is  most   just  is 


'^ 


30 


THE    NICOMACHIiAN 


BOOK  I. 


CHAP.  IX, 


ETHICS. 


31 


most  beautiful ;  but  to  be  well  is  the  best  of  things : 
and  for  a  man  to  obtain  the  object  of  his  love,  is  the  most 
delectable  of  things."     For  all  these  are  inherent  in  the 
.best  energies;  but  we  say  that  felicity  is  all  these,  or  one. 
of  them,  and  that  the  most  excellent.    At  the  same  time, 
however,  it  appears,  as  we  have  said,  that  external  goods 
are  requisite  to  felicity  ; "  for  it  is  impossible,  or  not  easy 
to  perform  beautiful  actions  without  the  assistance  of 
externals ;  since  many  things  are  indeed  performed  as 
it  were  through  instruments,  by  means  of  friends,  and 
wealth,  and  political  power.    The  privation  also  of  some 
things,  such  as  nobility,  a  good  offspring,  and  beauty, 
defile  a  blessed  condition  of  being ;  for  he  cannot  be 
entirely  happy  who  is  very  deformed  in  his  body,  or  of 
Ignoble  birth,  or  who  leads  a  solitary  life,  and  is  deprived 
of  children.     And  perhaps  he  can  in  a  still  less  degree 
be  entirely  happy,  if  his  children  are  very  vicious,  or  be- 
ing  good,  die.    As  we  have  said,  therefore,  [a  completely 
happy  life,]  requires  such  a  prosperity  as  this ;  whence 
also  some  arrange  prosperity,  but  others  virtue,  in  the 
same  place  with  felicity. 

*  To  a  felicity  in  every  respect  complete  and  perfect,  as  far  as  is 
possible  to  man  in  the  present  life,  external  goods  are  requisite ; 
though  a  truly  worthy  man  will  still  be  worthy,  and  essentially 
,  happy,  if  deprived  of  them.  I  say  he  will  still  be  essentially  happy, 
because  his  feli'city  consists  in  intellectual  energy,  and  of  this  he  can 
never  be  deprived  by  any  adverse  circumstances,  because  the  energy 
of  intellect  is  the  same  with  its  essence.  I  refer  the  reader  who  is 
desirous  of  seeing  a  specimen  of  this  perfect  felicity,  to  my  transla- 
tion of  the  life  of  Proclus  by  Marinus,  prefixed  to  my  translation 
of  Proclus  on  Euclid.  Such  an  instance  as  is  there  exhibited  of 
complete  felicity  in  one  man,  is  hardly  perhaps  to  be  paralleled  in 
all  antiquity  ;  and  it  would  be  folly  to  attempt  to  find  a  parallel  to 
it  in  modem  times. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Hence,  also,  it  is  doubted  whether  felicity  is  a  thing 
which  may  be  acquired  by  discipline,  or  custom,  or  in 
some  other  way  by  exercise  ;  or  whether  it  accedes  by  a 
certain  divine  allotment,  or  from  fortune.  If,  therefore, 
any  other  thing  is  the  gift  of  the  gods  to  men,  it  is 
reasonable  to  suppose  that  felicity  also  is  the  gift  of  divi- 
nity, and  especially  because  it  is  the  best  of  human  con- 
cerns.  This,  however,  will  perhaps  be  more  adapted  to 
another  discussion.  But  it  appears,  that  though  it  should 
not  be  sent  by  divinity  [to  men,]  but  is  procured  through 
virtue,  and  a  certain  discipline,  or  exercise,  it  belongs  to 
the  most  divine  of  things ;  for  the  reward  and  end  of 
virtue  appears  to  be  most  excellent,  and  something  divine 
and  blessed.  Felicity  also  will  be  a  thing  very  common ; 
for  it  is  able  to  be  present,  through  a  certain  discipline 
and  attention,  to  all  men  who  are  not  mutilated  with 
respect  to  virtue.  But  if  it  is  better  that  felicity  should 
be  acquired  after  this  manner, '  rather  than  from  fortune, 
it  is  reasonable  that  it  should  be  so  acquired  j  since 
natural  productions  subsist  in  such  a  way  as  it  is  most 
beautiful  for  them  to  subsist ;  and  in  a  similar  manner 

*  i.  e.  Either  from  divinity,  or  tlirough  the  exercise  of  virtue. 


32 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  I* 


things  which  are  produced  by  art,  or  by  any  other  cause, 
and  especially  such  as  are  produced  by  the  most  excellent 
cause.     To   commit,    however,   the   greatest  and  most 
beautiful  of  things  to  fortune,  would  be  very  lawless  and 
reprehensible.     The  object  of  investigation,  likewise,  is 
apparent  from  the  definition  of  felicity ;  for  we  have  said 
that  it  is  a  certain  energy  of  the  soul  according  to  virtue. 
But  of  the  remaining  goods,  some  indeed  are  present 
from  necessity,  but  others  co-operate,  and  are  naturally 
adapted  to  be  useful  organically.     These  things,  also, 
will  accord  with  what  we  have  said  in  the  beginning. 
For  we  established  the  end  of  the  political  science  as  the 
best  end;  but  this  pays  the  greatest  attention  to  the 
citizens,  in  order  to  render  them  characters  of  a  certain 
description,  and  that  they  may  be  good  men,  and  prac- 
tisers  of  beautiful  actions.     Reasonably,   therefore,  do 
we  neither  call  an  ox,  nor  a  horse,  nor  any  other  [irra- 
tional] animal  happy ;  for  it  is  not  possible  that  any  one 
of  them  can  partake  of  such  an  energy  as  this.    Through 
this  cause,  likewise,  neither  is  a  child  happy  ;  for  he  is 
not  yet,  on  account  of  his  age,  a  practiser  of  things  of 
this  kind.    But  those  children  who  are  said  to  be  happy, 
are  proclaimed  to  be  blessed  through  hope,  [that  when 
they  become  men  they  will  obtain  the  rational  energy  in 
perfection].     For  felicity,  as  we  have  said,  requires  per- 
fect virtue,  and  a  perfect  life.     For  many  mutations  and 
all-various  fortunes  happen  in  life;  and  it  is  possible  that 
he  whose  affairs  are  in  the  most  prosperous  condition, 
may  in  old  age  fall  into  the  greatest  calamities,  as  in 
heroic  poems  it  is  fabled  concerning  Priam.    But  no  one 
would  call  him  happy,  who  experiences  isuch  misfortunes, 
and  who  dies  miserably. 


\ 


\ 


CHAP.  X. 


ETHICS. 


SS 


CHAPTER  X. 


Shall  we  say,  therefore,  that  no  other  man  is  to  be 
proclaimed  happy  as  long  as  he  lives,  but  that  according 
to  Solon  it  Is  requisite  to  look  to  the  end  of  life  ?  If, 
however,  we  admit  this,  is  a  man,  therefore,  then  happy 
when  he  dies  ?  Or  is  this  perfectly  absurd,  especially 
to  those  who  say,  as  we  do,  that  felicity  is  a  certain 
energy  ?  But  if  neither  we  call  him  who  is  dead  happy, 
nor  was  this  the  intention  of  Solon,  but  his  meaning  is,  that 
a  man  may  then  be  securely  proclaimed  blessed,  as  being 

now  out  of  the  reach  of  evils  and  misfortunes ; even 

this  also  is  attended  with  a  certain  doubt.     For  there 
appears  to  be  a  certain  good  and  evil  to  him  who  is  dead, 
if  there  is  also  to  him  who  is  aliverbut  without  sensa' 
tion,  such  as  honour  and  ignominy,  and  in  short,  the 
prosperity  and  adversity  of  his  descendants.     This,  how- 
ever,  also  presents  us  with  a  difficulty.     For  it  is  possi- 
ble  that  to  the  offspring  of  him  who  has  lived  to  old  age 
blessedly,  and  has  died  rationally,  many  mutations  may 
happen,  and  that  some  of  them  may  be  good,  and  may 
obtain  a  life  according  to  their  desert,  but  that  the  con- 
trary  may  take  place  with  others.     It  is  likewise  evident 
that  there  may  be  an  all-various  apostacy  in  them  from 
the   manners  of  their  parents.      It  would,  therefore,  be 
absurd,  if  he  who  is  dead  should  also  be  changed  toge. 
ArisL  VOL.  II.  c 


34 


THE    NICOMACHIiAN 


BOOK  U 


ther  with  them,  and  should  at  one  time  become  happy, 
and  again  be  miserable.  It  is  likewise  absurd,  that  the 
affairs  of  descendants  should  not  for  a  certain  time  be  of 
any  consequence  whatever  to  parents* 

Let  us,  however,  returft  to  the  former  subject  of 
doubt ;  for  perhaps  that  which  is  now  investigated  may 
be  surveyed  from  it.  If,  therefore,  it  is  necessary  to 
look  to  the  end  of  life,  and  then  to  proclaim  each  man 
blessed,  not  as  being  now  blessed,  but  because  he  was  so 
before ;  is  it  not  absurd  when  he  is  happy  [i.  e.  while  he 
is  living,]  that  what  is  present  with  him  [i*  e,  felicity] 
should  not  be  asserted  of  him  with  truth,  because  we  are 
unwilling  to  proclaim  the  living  happy,  on  account  of  the 
mutations  of  life,  and  because  we  apprehend  felicity  to 
be  something  stable,  and  by  no  means  easily  to  h^ 
changed?  But  fortunes  frequently  circulate  about  the 
same  persons.  For  it  is  evident  if  we  should  follow  for- 
tune, we  must  frequently  call  the  same  man  happy  and 
again  miserable,  thus  evincing  the  happy  man  to  be  like 
the  chamasleon,  and  possessing  an  infirm  stability.  Or 
shall  we  say  that  it  is  indeed  by  no  means  right  to  follow 
fortune  ?  For  living  well  or  ill  is  not  among  the  gifts  of 
fortune ;  but  human  life,  as  we  have  said,  requires  the 
goods  of  fortune.  The  energies,  however,  according  to 
virtue,  are  the  mistresses  of  felicity,  but  the  contrary 
energies  are  the  mistresses  of  the  contrary.  That  also 
which  is  now  the  subject  of  doubt,  bears  testimony  to 
our  assertion.  For  in  no  hun^  afiairs  Is  there  so  much 
stability,  as  in  the  energies  according  to  virtue ;  since 
they  appear  to  be  more  stable  than  even  the  sciences 
themselves  j  and  of  these  very  energies  those  that  are 


CHAP.  X. 


ETHICS. 


85 


most  honourable,  are  also  most  stable,  because  blessed 
men  principally  and  most  assiduously  live  in  these.     For 
this  appears  to  be  the  cause  that  oblivion  does  not  happen 
concerning  them.     The  object  of  investigation,  there- 
iore,  IS  present  with  the  happy  man,  and  he  will  be  such 
through  life.      For  always,  or  the  most  of  all  men,  he 
will  perform  and  contemplate  things  pertaining  to  virtue, 
will  bear  the  changes  of  fortune  most  beautifully,  and  in 
the  most  perfectly  elegant  manner,  as  being  truly  good 
and  a  square  '  without  blame.     Since,  however,  many 
things  happen  from  fortune,  and  which  differ  in  magni- 
tude  and  parvitude,  it  is  evident  that  prosperous,  and  in 
a  similar  manner,  adverse  circumstances  when  they  are 
small,  are  of  no  consequence  to  the  life  of  man  ;  but  that 
such  as  are  great  and  numerous,  if  they  are  indeed  pros, 
perous,  render  life  more  blessed  ;  for  they  are  also  natu- 
ra  ly  adapted  to  adorn  life,  and  the  use  of  them  is  beauti- 
ful and  good ;  and  that,  on  the  contrary,  if  they  are 
adverse,  they  oppress  and  injure   beatitude.     For  they 
bring  with  them   molestation,  and  are  an  impediment  to 
many  energies.     At  the  same  time,  however,   even  in 
these  the  beauty  of  good  conduct  shines  forth,  when  a 
man   bears  many   and    great    misfortunes    easily,    not 
through  an  insensibility  of  pain,  but  in  consequence  of 
being  generous  and  magnanimous.     But  if  energies  are 
the  mistresses  of  life,  as  we  have  said,  no  one  who  is 
blessed   will  become   miserable  j^   since  he   will   never 

'  i.  e.  A  cubic  body,  which,  having  each  of  its  superficies  a  square, 
can  stand  erect  on  each  of  them.  Thus  also  the  happy  man,  on  ac 
count  of  his  perfect  virtue,  will  energize  with  undeviating  rectitude 
m  every  fortune.  ^ 

*  That  a  truly  good  man,  under  the  pressure  of  certain  very 
great  misfortunes,  is  not  blessed  nor  yet  miserable,  but  in  a  condi. 


CHAP.  X. 


ETHICS. 


37 


86 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  I. 


do  any  thing  that  is  odious  and  base.     For  we^  are  of 
opinion,  that  the  man  who  is  truly  good  and  wise,  will 

tion  between  felicity  and  misery,  is  an  assertion  ^^^.^^^^^^^/JS^^^^ 
understood,  is  not  dissonant  from  the  doctrme  of  the  best  of  d.e 
Platonists.     For  it  is  'requisite  to  the  perfection  of  felicity,^  that  it 
should  subsist  in  the  most  perfect  energy ;  but  some  calamities  may 
be  so  great  as  to  render  this  impossible.     Even  in  this  case  how       ^ 
ever,  die  felicity  of  the  truly  worthy  man  will  continue  essentially  Ih^ 
same,  though  it  will  not  be  the  same  in  perfect  energy ;  but  may  then 
be  said  to  be,  as  it  were,  in  a  dormant  state.     The  truth  of  this  is 
most  beautifully  illustrated  by  Plotinus  in  his  book  On  Fehcity, 
from  which  the  following  is  an  extract.  ^ 

«  The  wise  man  is  never  oppressed  with  evil,  through  ignorance 
of  his  ow;.  concerns,  nor  changed  by  die  fortunes  of  others,  whedier 
prosperous  or  adverse  :  but  when  his  pains  are  vehement,  as  tar  as 
ft  is  possible  to  bear  he  bears  them  ;  and  when  they  are  excessive, 
they  may  cause  him  to  be  delirious ;  yet  he  will  not  be  miserable 
in  the  midst  of  the  greatest  pains,  but  his  intellectual  light  will  assi- 
duously shine  in  the  penetralia  of  his  soul,  like  a  lamp  secured  m  a 
watch  tower,  which  shines  widi  unremitted  splendour,  though  sur* 
rounded  by  stormy  winds  and  raging  seas.  But  what  shall  we  say,  if 
through  the  violence  of  pain  he  is  just  ready  to  destroy  himself  ? 
Indeed,  if  the  pain  is  so  vehemently  extended,  he  will,  if  sensible, 
consult  what  is  requisite  to  be  done,  for  in  these  circumstances  the 
freedom  of  the  will  is  not  taken  away.     At  the  same  time  it  must 
be  observed,  diat  things  of  diis  kind  do  not  appear  to  men  excellent 
in  virtue  so  dreadful  as  to  others,  nor  yet  reach  to  the  inward  and 
true  man.     If  any  one,  however,  objects  that  we  are  so  formed  by 
nature,  that  we  ought  to  grieve  for  domestic  misfortunes,  he  should 
understand  diat,  in  die  first  place,  all  men  are  not  so  aflPected,  and 
in  the  n^t  place,  diat  it  is  die  business  of  virtue  to  reduce  the  com- 
mon  condiuon  of  nature  to  diat  which  is  better,  and  to  something 
more  honest  than  die  decisions  of  die  vulgar.   JgftMt  is  more  honest 
to  consider  as  a  thing  of  no  moment  all  that  a^ears  grievous  to  our 
common  nature.     For  the  wise  man  is  not  as  one  rude  and  unskil- 
ful,  but  like  a  strenuous  wresder  vigorously  repels  the  strokes  ot 
fortune,  endeavouring  to  dirow  his  fortitude  on  die  ground  ;  since 
he  knows  diat  such  diings  are  displeasing  to  a  common  nature,  but 


bear  all  fortunes  in  a  becommg  manner,  and  from  exist- 
ing circumstances  will  always  perform  the  most  beautiful 

that  to  such  a  nature  as  his  own  they  are  not  really  grievous,  but 
are  terrible  only  as  it  were  to  boys.  Hence,  he  contemplates  even 
the  slaughter  and  destruction  of  cides,  the  rapine  and  prey,  like  the 
scenes  in  a  theatre,  as  nothing  more  than  certain  transmutations,  and 
alternate  changes  of  figures ;  and  weeping  and  distress,  every  where 
as  delusive  and  fictidous.  For  in  the  particular  acts  of  human  life, 
he  knows  it  is  not  the  interior  soul  and  the  true  man,  but  the  exte- 
rior shadow  of  man  alone,  which  laments  and  weeps,  performing 
his  part  on  the  earth  as  in  a  more  ample  and  extended  scene,  in 
which  many  shadows  of  souls  and  phantom  scenes  appear. 

"  But  what  shall  we  say  when  the  wise  man  is  no  longer  himself, 
in  consequence  of  being  overwhelmed  with  disease  ?     We  reply, 
that  if  in  such  a  state  it  is  allowed  he  may  retain  his  proper  virtue, 
like  one  in  a  deep  sleep,  what  is  there  to  prevent  his  being  happy  ? 
since  no  one  would  deprive  him  of  his  felicity  in  sleep,  nor  consider 
that  interval  of  rest  as  any  hindrance  to  the  happiness  of  the  whole 
of  life.     Again,  if  it  is  said,  how  can  he  be  happy,  though  endued 
with  virtue,  while  he  does  not  perceive  himself  virtuous,  nor  ener- 
gizes according  to  virtue  ? — we  reply,  though  a  man  does  not  per- 
ceive himself  to  be  healthy,  he  may  nevertheless  be  healthy :  and 
again,  he  will  not  be  less  beautiful  in  his  body,  though  not  sensible 
of  his  beauty  ;  and  will  a  man  be  less  wise  if  he  does  not  perceive 
himself  to  be  wise  ?     But  perhaps  some  one  may  say,  that  wisdom 
should  be  accompanied  with  sense  and  animadversion,  for  felMty 
is  present  with  wisdom  in  energy  :  We  reply,  if  this  energy  of  wis- 
dom was  any  thing  adventitious,  there  might  be  some  weight  in 
the  assertion;  but  if  the  subsistence  of  wisdom  is  situated  in  a  certain 
essence,  or  rather  in  essence  itself,  this  essence  wijl  neither  perish 
in  him  who  is  asleep  or  delirious,  or  is  denied  to  be  any  longer  con- 
scious of  his  felicity.    And,  Indeed,  the  energy  of  this  essence  resides 
in  the  soul  of  such  an  one,  and  Is  an  energy'perpetually  vigilant  j  for 
then  the  wise  man  considered  as  wise  energizes,  whether  he  be  in  a 
dormant  state,  or  overwhelmed  with  infirmity.     But  an  energy  of 
this  kind  is  not  concealed  from  the  whole  itself;  but  rather  from 
some  particular  part ;  just  as  with  respect  to  the  vegetable  energy 
in  its  most  flourishing  state,  an  animadversion  of  such  an  energy, 


i 


1 


36 


THE    KICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  I. 


deeds ;  just  as  a  good  general  will  use  the  army  under 
his  command  in  the  most  warlike  manner,  and  a  shoe-» 


does  not  transmigrate  into  the  external  mnn  by  means  of*  a  sentient 
nature  ;  and  if  we  were  entirely  the  same  with  our  vegetable  power, 
there  is  no  doubt  but  we  bhould  energize  whenever  such  a  virtue  was 
in  energy.  Since,  however,  the  case  is  otherwise,  and  we  are  the 
energy  of  that  which  is  intelligent,  we  energize  in  consequence  of 
its  energy. 

"  Perhaps,  indeed,  such  an  energy  is  concealed  from  us  because  it 
does  not  reach  any  sentient  power ;  for  to  this  purpose  it  should 
energize  through  sense  as  a  medium.  But  why  should  not  intellect 
energize,  and  soul  about  intellect,  preceding  all  sense  and  animad- 
version? For  it  is  requisite  there  should  be  some  energy  prior  to 
animadversion,  since  the  energy  of  intellect  is  the  same  with  its 
essence.  But  animadversion  appears  to  take  place  when  the  energy 
o{  intellect  is  reflected  ;  and  when  that  which  energizes  according 
to  the  life  of  the  soul  rebounds  as  it  were  back  again,  like  images  in 
a  mirror  quietly  situated  in  a  smooth  and  polished  place,  so  as  to 
reflect  every  form  which  its  receptacle  contains.  For  as  in  things  of 
this  kind,  when  the  mirror  is  not  present,  or  is  not  properly  disposed, 
the  energy  from  which  the  image  was  formed  is  indeed  present,  but 
the  resemblance  absent :  so  with  respect  to  the  soul,  when  it  ener- 
gizes in  quiet,  certain  resemblances  of  thought  and  intellect  beam 
pn  our  imagination,  like  the  images  in  the  smooth  and  polished 
mirror ;  and  in  a  sensible  manner,  as  it  were,  we  acknowledge  that 
our  intellect  and  reason  energize  together  with  the  former  know- 
ledge. But  when  this  medium  is  coi\foundcd,  because  the  harmony 
of  the  body  is  disturbed,  then  intellect  and  reason  understand 
without  an  image,  and  intellection  is  carried  on  without  imagination. 
Hence,  intelligence  may  be  considered  as  subsisting  together  with 
the  phantasy,  while,  in  the  mean  time,  intelligence  is  something  very 
different  from  the  phantasy.  Besides  it  is  easy  to  discover  many 
speculations  of  men  when  vigilant,  and  worthylfictions,  in  the  per- 
formance of  which  it  is  evident  that  we  do  not  pfirasive  ourselves  to 
speculate  and  act.  For  it  is  not  necessary  that  he  mo  reads  should 
be  conscious  he  is  reading,  especially  when  he  reads  with  the  great- 
est attention  ;  nDr  that  he  who  icts  vigorously  should  acknowledge 
his  vigorous  energy  ;  and  the  same  consequence  ensues  in  a  variety 


CHAP.  X. 


ETHICS. 


39 


maker  from  the  leather  with  which  he  is  supplied  wll! 
make  the  most  beautiful  shoe  ^  and  the  same  thing  will 

of  other  operations :  so  that  sensible  animadversions  appear  to  ren- 
der more  debile  the  actions  which  they  attend ;  but  when  they  are 
alone,  they  are  then  pure,  and  seem  to  possess  more  of  energy  and 
Kfe.  And,  hence,  when  worthy  men  live  in  such  a  state,  it  follows 
that  they  live  in  a  more  perfect  manner ;  since  their  life  is  not  at 
that  time  diffused  into  sense,  and  by  this  means  remitted  In  its  ener- 
gy, but  is  collected  into  itself,  in  one  uniform,  intellectiral  tenour. 

"Nor  are  the  wise  man's  energies  entirely  prevented  by  the  changes 
of  fortune,  but  different  energies  will  take  place  in  different  fortunes, 
yet  all  of  them  equally  worthy,  and  those  perhaps  more  worthy 
which  rightly  compose  jarring  externals.  For  the  greatest  disci- 
pline always  resides  with  him,  and  this  more  so,  though  he  should 
be  placed  in  the  bull  of  Phalaris.  For  what  is  there  pronounced  in 
agony,  is  pronounced- by  that  which  is  placed  in  torment,  tlie  exter- 
nal and  shadowy  man,  which  is  far  different  from  the  true  man,  v;ho 
dwelling  by  himself,,  so  fur  as  he  necessarily  resides  witli  himself^ 
never  ceases  froip  the  contemplation  of  tJie  supremo  good. 

"  But  he  who  does  not  place  the  wise  man  in  such  an  exalted  Intel- 
lect, but  subjects  hiu)  to  the  power  of  fortune,  and  to  the  fear  cF 
evil,  certainly  presents  us  with  a  mixed  character  and  life,  composed 
from  good  and  evil,  and  which  possesses  nothing  great,  either  per- 
taining to  the  excellency  of  wisdom,  or  die  purity  of  goodness.  Feli- 
city, therefore,  cannot  consist  in  a  common  1.1'e ;  and  Plato  rightly 
judges  that  the  chief  good  is  to  be  sought  from  above  ;  that  it  mu^t 
be  beheld  by  him  who  is  wise,  and  wishes  to  become  happy  in  futu- 
rity ;  and  that  he  must  study  to  approach  to  its  similitude,  and  to 
live  its  exalted  life.  It  is  requisite,  therefore,  to  possess  this  alone, 
in  order  to  obtain  the  end  of  life  ;  and  the  wise  man  will  consider 
all  besides  as  certain  mutations  of  place,  which  in  reality  confer 
nothing  to  felicity.  In  every  circumstance  of  being  he  will  conjec- 
ture what  is  right,  and  act  as  necessity  requires,  as  far  as  his  abili- 
ties extend.  To  which  we  may  add,  that  though  he  lives  a  life 
superior  to  sense,  he  will  not  be  hindered  from  taking  a  proper  care 
of  the  body  with  which  he  is  connected,  always  acting  similarly  to  the  * 
musician,  who  cares  for  his  lyre  as  long  as  he  is  able  to  use  it ;  but 
when  it  becomes  useless  and  ceases  any  longer  to  perform  the 
office  of  a  lyre,  he  either  changes  it  for  another,  or  abstains  entirely 


«o 


THE   NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  I. 


take  place  with  all  other  artists.     If  this,  however,  be  the 
case,  the  happy  man  will  never  become  miserable ;  nor 
yet  if  he  should  fall  into  the  calamities  of  Priam,  will  he 
be  blessed.   Nor  again,  is  he  various  and  easily  changed ; 
for  he  is  not  easily  moved  from  felicity,  nor  by  any  casual 
misfortunes,  but  by  such  as  are  great  and  numerous. 
And  after  such  calamities  as  these,  he  will  not  again 
become  happy  in  a  short  time ;  but  if  he  does  recover 
his  felicity,  it  will  be  in  a  certain  long  and  perfect  time, 
in  which  he  will  become  a  partaker  of  things  of  a  great 
and  beautiful  nature.     What  then  prevents  us  from  call- 
ing  the  man  happy  who  energizes  according  to  perfect 
virtue,  and  who  is  sufficiently  supplied  with   external 
goods,  not  for  any  casual  time,  but  through  a  perfect 
life  ?     Or  ought  we  to  add,  that  he  must  also  thus  live 
and  die  conformably  to  nature  ?  since  the  future  is  un- 
apparent  to  us,  and  we  admit  that  felicity  is  an  end,  and 
entirely  and  in  every  respect  perfect.     But  if  this  be  the 
case,  we  must  call  those  among  the  living  blessed,  to 
whom  the  particulars  we  have  mentioned  are  and  have 
been  present ;  but  we  must  denominate  them  blessed  as 
men.     And  thus  much  concerning  these  things. 

from  its  exercise,  having  an  employment  independent  of  the  lyre, 
and  despising  it,  lying  near  him  as  no  longer  harmonious,  he  sings 
without  its  instrumental  assistance.  Yet  this  instrument  was  not 
bestowed  on  the  musician  from  the  first  in  vain,  because  it  has  often 
been  used  by  him  with  advantage  and  delight." 


'^- 


CHAP.  XI. 


ETHICS. 


41 


CHAPTER  XI. 


That  the  good  or  bad  fortune,  however,  of  descend- 
ants, and  of  all  friends,  should  contribute  nothing  [to  the 
happy  man,]  appears  to  be  a  thing  very  unfriendly,  and 
contrary  to  the  opinions  of  mankind.  But  since  many 
things  happen,  and  which  possess  an  all-various  difference, 
and  some  of  them  pertain  to  us  in  a  greater,  but  others 
in  a  less  degree,  to  discuss  them  severally  appears  to  be 
a  long  and  an  infinite  undertaking.  It  will,  therefore, 
perhaps  be  sufficient  to  speak  of  them  universally,  and  to 
adumbrate  what  they  are  As  of  the  calamitous  circum- 
stances then  which  happen  to  the  happy  man,  some  have 
**a  certain  weight  and  are  of  importance  in  life,  this  is  like- 
wise the  case  with  respect  to  all  his  friends.  It  makes  a 
difference,  however,  whether  each  of  the  calamities  hap- 
pens to  the  living  or  the  dead ;  and  the  difference  is  much 
greater  than  whether  the  illegal  and  dreadful  deeds  which 
are  the  subject  of  tragedy,  have  been  formerly  perpetrated, 
or  are  perpetrated  now.  In  this  way,  therefore,  the  dif- 
ference may  also  be  collected.  Perhaps,  however,  it 
ought  rather  to  be  doubted  concerning  the  dead,  whether 
they  partake  of  any  good  or  ill.  For  it  appears  from 
these  things,  that  though  something  should  arrive  to 
them,  whatever  it  may  be,  whether  good,  or  the  contrary, 
it  is  something  debile  and  small,  either  in  its  own  nature. 


4? 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  I- 


or  to  them.  But  if  it  should  possess  a  certain  power, 
yet  it  cannot  be  so  great,  or  of  such  a  kind,  as  to  make 
those  happy  who  are  not  so,  or  to  deprive  those  of  bles- 
sedness who  are.  The  prosperity,  therefore,  and  in  a 
similar  manner  the  adversity  of  friends,  appears  to  con- 
tribute something  to  the  dead  ;  yet  with  respect  to  them, 
they  are  of  so  little  consequence,  as  neither  to  make  those 
that  are  happy  unhappy,  nor  effect  any  thing  else  of  the 
tke  kind. 


CHAPTER   XII. 


Tjiese  things  being  discussed,  let  us  consider,  with 
respect  to  felicity,  whether  it  is  among  the  number  oF^ 
things  laudable,  or  rather  of  things  honourable ;  for  it 
is  evident  that  it  does  not  consist  in  power.  It  seems, 
therefore,  that  every  thing  which  is  laudable,  is  praised 
because  it  possesses  a  certain  quality,  and  is  in  a  certain 
respect  referred  to  something.  For  we  praise  the  just 
and  the  brave  man,  and  in  short  the  good  man,  and  also 
virtue,  on  account  of  works  and  actions.  We  likewise 
pr^se  the  strong  man  and  the  racer,  &c,  because  they 
are  naturally  adapted  to  possess  certain  qualities,  and 
h^ve  reference  in  a  certain  respect  to  something  good 
ind  worthy.  But  this  also  is  evident  from  the  praises 
which  pertain  to  the  Gods  j  for  they  appear  to  be  ridicur 


GHAP.  XII. 


ETHICS. 


43 


}ous  when  referred  to  us.     This,  however,  happens,  as 
we  have  said,  because  praise  subsists  from  relation.     But 
if  praise  is  given  to  things  of  this  kind,  it  is  evident  that 
no  praise  can  be  given  to  the  most  excellent  things  ;  but 
something  greater  and  better  pertains  to  them,  as  also 
appears  to  be  the  case-    For  we  proclaim  the  Gods  to  be 
blessed  and  happy,  and  we  also  proclaim  the  most  divine 
of  men  to  be  blessed  ;    and  in  a  similar  manner  we  cele- 
brate what  is  good.     For  no  one  praises  felicity,  in  the 
>same  way  as  he  does  justice  j  but  he  proclaims  it  to  be 
blessed,  as  something  more  divine  and  excellent  than 
justice.     Eudoxus,  likewise,  in  his  defence  of  pleasure, 
appears  to  have  given  it  the  palm  of  victory  in  a  proper 
manner  ;  for  in  consequence  of  its  not  being  praised,  as 
being  among  the  number  of  good  things,  he  considered 
this  as  an  indication  that  it  was  more  excellent  than  things 
that  are  laudable.     But  God  and  the  good  are  things  of 
this  kind  ;    for  other  things  also  are  referred  to  these. 
For  praise,  indeed,  is  given  to  virtue ;  since  from  this  we 
are  enabled  to  perform  beautiful  deeds.     Encomiums, 
however,  pertain  to  deeds,  and  in  a  similar  manner  to 
bodies  and  souls.     The  accurate  discussion,  however,  of 
these  things,   is  perhaps  more  adapted  to  a  treatise  on 
Encomiums ;  but  to  us  it  is  evident,  from  what  has  been 
said,  that  felicity  is  among  the  number  of  things  honour- 
able and  perfect.    It  seems,  likewise,  that  it  is  so,  bepause 
it  is  a  principle  ;  for  we  all  of  us  do  every  thing  else  for 
the  sake  of  this  ;  but  we  admit  that  the  principle  and  the 
cause  of  what  is  good,  i§  something  honourable  and 
^ivinc. 


44 


THE   NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK    I. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


Since,  however,  felicity  is  a  certain  energy  of  the  soul, 
according  to  perfect  virtue,  we  must  direct  our  attention 
'  to  virtue ;  for  perhaps  we  shall  thus  also  speculate  better 
concerning  felicity.     But  it  seems  that  he  who  is  skilled 
in  the  administration  of  pubhc  affairs,  labours  especially 
about  this ;    for  he  wishes  to  make  the  citizens  worthy 
persons,  and  obedient  to  the  laws ;  and  as  an  example  of 
these  we  have  the  legislators  of  the  Cretans  and  Lacedae- 
monians, and  any  others  there  may  have  been  of  this 
kind.     If,  however,  the  speculation  itself  is  of  the  politi- 
cal science,  it  is  evident  that  the  inquiry  will  be  conform- 
able to  our  intention  from  the  beginning.      But  our  dis- 
cussion must  be  concerning  virtue,  viz.   human  virtue ; 
jfor  we  investigate  human  good,  and  human  felicity  ;  and 
jwe  call  human  virtue,  not  the  virtue  of  the  body,  but  of 
/the  soul ;    and  we  say  that  felicity  is  the  energy  of  the 
soul.     If,  however,  this  be  the  case,  it  is  evident  that  he 
who  is  skilled  in  the  administration   of  public  affairs, 
ought   to   know  whatever  pertains  to  the  soul ;    just 
as  he  who  intends  to  cure  the  eyes  ought  to  have  a 
knowledge  of  the  whole  body  5'    and  this  in  a  greater 


'  That  the  physician  who  intends  to  cure  a  part,  ought  to  have 
a  knowledge  of  the  whole  body,  is  inculcated  by  Plato  in  the  Char- 


midcs. 


{ 


# 


CHAP.  XIII. 


ETHICS. 


45 


degree,  by  how   much   more   honourable,    and  excel- 
lent, the  political  is  than  the  medicinal   science.       Of 
physicians,   likewise,  the  more    elegant  are  busily  em- 
ployed about  the  knowledge  of  the  body.     He,  there- 
fore,   who    is   skilled   in  the  administration   of  public 
affairs,  must  direct  his  attention  to  the  soul ;  but  he  must 
direct  his  attention  to  it  for  the  sake  of  these  things,  and 
so  far  as  is  sufficient  to  the  objects  of  inquiry.      For  to 
consider  the  soul  still  more  accurately  is  perhaps  more 
laborious  and  difficult  than  the  present  discussion  requires. 
We  have  also  said  some  things  sufficiently  concerning  it 
in  our  popular  writings,  and  those  must  be  consulted ; 
such  as  that  one  part  of  the  soul  is  irrational,  but  another 
rational.      But  whether  these  parts  are  separated,  in  the 
same  manner  as  the  parts  of  the  body,  and  every  thing 
which  is  partible,  or  they  are  two  parts  in  definition 
[alone,]  and  are  naturally  inseparable,  as  in  the  periphery 
of  a  circle  the  convex  and  the  concave,  is  of  no  conse- 
quence in  the  present  discussion.     Of  the  irrational  part^ 
however,  one  part  resembles  the  common  and  vegetative 
power ;  I  mean  the  power  which  is  the  cause  of  nutrition 
and  increase.     For  such  a  power  as  this  may  be  admitted 
to  exist  in  every  thing  that  is  nourished,  in  embryos,  and 
also  in  perfect  animals  ;    since  it  is  more  reasonable  that 
this  power  should  exist  in  them  than  any  other.     The 
virtue,  therefore,  of  this  power  appears  to  be  common 
and  not  human.  For  this  part  seems  especially  to  energize 
in  sleep,  but  a  good  and  a  bad  man  can  in  the  smallest 
degree  be  distinguished  in  sleep  ;    whence  it  is  said  that 
the  happy  differ  in  no  respect  from  the  miserable  during 
the  half  of  life.     But  this  happens  reasonably  ;  for  sleep 
is  an  inactivity  both  of  the  worthy  and  the  depraved  soul ; 
except  so  far  as  certain  motions  gradually  arrive  at  the 


46 


THE  NICOMACHEAi^ 


BOOK  ti 


CHAP,  VIII. 


ETHICS. 


47 


•>f 


soul,  and  on  this  account  the  phantasms  of  worthy 
are  better  than  those  of  worthless  men.  But  of  these 
things  enough.  The  nutritive  part,  therefore,  must  be 
omitted,  since  it  is  naturally  destitute  of  human  virtue. 

There  appears,  however^  to  be  another  certain  irrational 
ftature  of  the  soul,  which  nevertheless  participates  in  a 
certain  respect  of  reason  ;  for  we  praise  the  reason  of 
the  continent,  and  also  of  the  incontinent  man,  and  thai 
part  of  the  soul  which  possesses  reason  ;    for  it  rightly 
excites  to  the  most  excellent  deeds.      There  appears,, 
however,  to  be  in  them  [i.  e.  both  in  the  continent  and 
incontinent]  something  else  naturally  contrary  to  reason, 
which  wars  against  and  resists  reason.     For,  indeed,  as 
the  paralyzed  parts  of  the  body,  if  we  wish  to  move  them 
to  the  right  hand,  are  on  the  contrary  moved  to  the  left, 
thusj^also,  it  is  in  the  soul.     For  the  impulses  of  the  in^ 
continent  are  in  a  direction  contrary  [to  the  dictates  of 
reason].      In  bodies,    however,  we  see  that  which    is 
moved  contrary  [to  the  intention  of  the  will],  but  in  the 
soul  we  do  not  see  [that  which  is  moved  contrary  to  rea- 
son ;]    though  perhaps  we  ought  nevertheless  to  think 
that  in  the  soul,  also,  there  is  something  opposite  to  rea- 
son, which  is  adverse  and  proceeds  in  a  direction  contrary 
to  it ;    but  it  is  of  no  consequence  in  what  manner  it  is 
different  from  reason.     This  part,  however,  appears,  as 
we  have  said,  to  participate  of  reason.     It  is  obedient, 
therefore,  to  the  reason  of  the  continent  man ;    and  per- 
haps it  is  still  more  obedient  to  the  reason  of  the  tem- 
perate and  brave  man  ;  for  all  things  are  in  concord  with 
his  reason.     It  appears,  therefore,  that  the  irrational  part 
is  twofold  ;    for  the  vegetable  p?trt  in  no  respect  partici- 
pates of  reason;    but  the  part  w^hich  desires,  and,  in 


short,  the  orectic  part,  participate  in  a  certain  respect  of 
reason,  so  far  as  they  are  attentive  and  obedient  to  it. 
In  this  way,  therefore,  we  say  that  a  man  has  a  regard 
for,  or  pays  attention  to  (e;^c<v  Xo^ov)  his  father  and  his 
friends,  and  not  after  the  same  manner  as  he  has  a  regard 
for  the  mathematical  sciences.  But  that  the  irrational 
part  is  in  a  certain  respect  obedient  to  reason,  admonition 
and  all  reproof  and  exhortation  indicate.  If,  however, 
it  be  requisite  to  say  that  this  part  also  possesses  reason, 
that  which  possesses  reason  will  be  twofold ;  the  one, 
indeed,  properly,  and  in  itself;  but  the  other  re- 
sembling a  child  attentive  to  his  father^  Virtue,  like- 
wise, is  distributed  according  to  this  difference.  For 
we  say  that  of  the  virtues  some  are  dianoetic  [or  belong 
to  the  power  which  reasons  scientifically,]  but  others 
ethical.  And  we  denominate  indeed  wisdom,  intelli- 
gence, and  prudence,  dianoetic  virtues ;  but  liberality 
and  temperance  ethical  virtues.  For  when  we  speak  con- 
cerning the  manners  of  a  man,  we  do  not  say  that  he  is 
wise,  or  intelligent,  but  that  he  is  mild  or  temperate. 
We  likewise  praise  a  wise  man  accoipding  to  habit ;  but 
we  call  the  laudable  habits,  virtues. 


THE 


\ 


NICOMACHEAN    ETHICS, 


BOOK  II. 


CHAPTER   L 


^ 


Since,   however,  virtue   is    twofold,    one  kind  being 
dianoetic,  but  the  other  ethic  ;  the  dianoetic,  indeed,  for 
the  most  part  receives  both  its  generation  and  increase 
from  doctrine  ;    on  which  account  it  requires  experience 
a^ijime  ;   but  the  ethic  is  produced  from  custom,  from 
wKence/  also,  it  derives  its  name,  which  declines  but  a 
little  from  gflo^,  ethos,  custom.     From  which,  likewise, 
it  is  evident,  that  no  one  of  the  ethical  virtues  is  ingene- 
rated  in  us  by  nature  j    for  nothing  that  has  a  natural 
subsistence  can  by  custom  be  brought  to  act  differently 
from  its  natural  tendency.  Thus  a  stone,  which  naturally 
tends  downward,  cannot  be  accustomed  to  tend  upward. 


Arist. 


VOL.  II. 


50 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  II. 


CHAP.  I. 


ETHICS, 


51 


though  some  one  should  hurl  it  upward  ten  thousand 
times ;  nor  can  fire  be  accustomed  to  tend  downward, 
nor  can  any  thing  else  among  the  things  which  have 
natural  tendencies  different  from  these,  be  accustomed 
to  any  other  tendency  than  that  which  it  has  from  nature. 
/The  virtues,  therefore,  are  neither  from  nature,  nor  are 
/ingenerated  in  us  preternaturally  ;  but  they  are  produced 
in\s  in  consequence  of  our  being  naturally  adapted  to 
receive    them,    and   becoming   perfect   through   habit* 
Again,  with  respect  to  such  things  as  are  ingenerated  in 
us  by  nature,  of  these,  we  first  receive  the  powers,  but 
afterwards  employ  the  energies  of  those  powers';  which 
is  evident  in  the  senses.     For  it  is  not  from  frequently 
seeing,   or  frequently    hearing,    that   we  receive  these 
senses,  but,  on  the  contrary,  having  these  senses  we  use 
them,  and  we  do  not  have  them  by  using  them.     With 
respect  to  the  virtues,  however,  we  receive  them  by  first 
energizing  according  to  them,  in  the  same  manner  as  in 
the  other  arts ;    for  those  things  which  it  is  necessary 
to  do,  in  consequence  of  having  learnt  how  to  do  them, 
these  by  doing  w^e  learn  how  to  do.      Thus,  by  building 
v/e  become  builders,  and  by  playing  on  the  harp   we 
become  harpers.     Thus  too,  by  acting  justly  we  become 
just,  prudent  by  acting  prudently,  and  brave  by  acting 
bravely.      But  what  happens  in  cities  bears  testimony  to 
the  truth  of  this.     For  the  legislators  by  accustoming  the 
citizens  [to   virtue,]  render  them  worthy  characters; 
and  this  indeed  is  the  intention  of  every  legislator  ;    but 
such  as  do  not  effect  this  well,  err.     And  in  this  one 
polity  differs  from  another,  the   good   from  the   bad. 
Farther  still,  from  the  same  things,  and  through  the 
same  things,  every  virtue  is  generated  and  corrupted  j 


and  In  a  similar  manner  every  art.  For  from  playine  on 
the  harp,  both  good  and  bad  harpers  are  produced  -and 
analogously  builders   of  houses,   and  all  other  a'rtists. 

Ld  f        K  S""^  r"^ '^^  ^'  g^^^  builders,  but 

bad  from  building  ill ;  since  if  it  were  not  so,  there  would 

be  no  occasion  for  a  preceptor,  but  all  men  would  be 

[naturally]  good   or  bad  artists.     The  like   also   takes 

S^men        f ""      ^''  '^  "^^"^  in  our  compacts 
^ith  men,  we  become  some  of  us  indeed  just,  but  o  hers 
uy  t ;    and  by  acting  in  things  of  a  dleadful  natur 
and  by  being  accustomed  either  to  be  terrified  or  to  be 

tT^d      Vi?  '^"S^^>.^---f"s  become  brave,  but  others 
timid.  ^  The  reasomng,  likewise,  is  similar  with  respect 
o  desire  and  anger ;    for  some  men,  indeed,  become 
emperate  and  mild,  but  others  intemperate  and  irascible ; 
these  from  being  in  this  w^ay  conversant  with  these  things 
but  those  from  being  conversant  with  them  in  that  way 
And  m  one  word,^  habits  are  produced  from  similar  eneri 
gies      Hence,  it  is  necessary  to  render  energies  endued 
with  a  certam  quality;  for  habits  follow  from  the  differ- 
ences  of  these.     It  is  of  no  small  consequence,  therefore, 
to  be  thus  or  thus  accustomed  immediately  from  our 


/ 


52 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  II. 


CHAPTER    II. 


Since,  therefore,  the  present  treatise  is  not  for  the 
sake  of  theory,  like  other  discussions;  for  our  attention 
k  not  directed  to  this  business,  that  we  may  know  what 
virtue  is,  but  that  we  may  become  good  men,  since  other- 
wise no  advantage  would  be  derived  from  it ;— this  being 
'  the  case,  it  is  necessary  to  consider  with  respect  to  actions 
how  they  are  to  be  performed ;   for  as  we  have  said, 
they   are  the  mistresses  of  the  qualities  which   habits 
possess.     To  act,  therefore,  according  to  right  reason  is 
common, '  and  is  now  assumed  to  be  so.    We  shall,  how- 
ever, hereafter  speak  concerning  this,  and  show   what 
right  reason  is, '  and  how  it  subsists  with  reference  to  the 
other  virtues.     But  this  must  be  previously  granted,  that 
every  treatise  of  practical  affairs  ought  only  to  be  an 
adumbration,  and  not  an  accurate  discussion,   as  also 
we  observed  in  the  beginning,  because  reasonings  are  re- 
quired conformable  to  the  subject  matter;  and  in  prac- 
tical affairs,  and  things  contributing  to  them,  there  is 
nothing  stable,  as  neither  is  there  in  things  which  are 


»  Viz.  In  order  that  actions  may  be  good,  It  Is  universally  re- 
quisite that  they  should  be  performed  according  to  right  reason. 
*  In  the  6th  Book. 


CHAP.  II. 


ETHICS. 


53 


salubrious. '  Such,  therefore,  being  the  universal  reason, 
in  a  still  greater  degree  will  the  discussion  of  particulars 
be  deficient  in  accuracy ;  for  it  neither  falls  under  art, 
nor  under  any  precept.  It  is,  however,  necessary  that 
those  who  are  engaged  in  practical  affairs  should  always 
direct  their  attention  to  an  opportune  time,  in  the  same 
manner  as  in  medicine,  and  in  the  pilot's  art.  But 
though  the  present  discussion  is  of  this  nature,  we  must 
endeavour  to  give  it  assistance. 

In  the  first  place,  therefore,  this  must  be  observed, 
that  things  of  this  kind   [viz.  actions  which  produce  in 
us  the  habits  of  the  virtues,]  are  naturally  adapted  to  be 
corrupted  by  excess  and  defect,  as  we  see  in  strength  and 
health,  [which  are  the  virtues  of  the  body ;  ]  (for  it  is 
necessary  to  use  things  apparent  as  testimonies,  in  things 
which  are  unapparent),  since  exercises  which  are  exces- 
sive, and  also  those  which  are  deficient,  corrupt   the 
strength  of  the  body.     In  like  manner  meat  and  drink, 
when  taken  in  too  great  or  too  small  a  quantity,  corrupt 
the  health  ;  but  these,  when  commensurate,  produce  in- 
crease, and  preserve  it.     This,  therefore,  is  also  the  case 
in  temperance  and  fortitude,  and  the  other  virtues.     For 
he  who  flies  from  and  is  afraid  of  all  things,  and  endures 
nothing,  becomes  timid  ;  and  he  who  in  short  is  afraid 
of  nothing,  but  marches  up  to  all  things,  becomes  auda- 
cious.    In  a  similar  manner,  he  indeed  who  gives  himself 
up  to  the  enjoyment  of  every  pleasure,  and  abstains  from 
none,  is  intemperate ;  but  he  who  flies  from  all  pleasures, 
like  rustic  men,  is  an  insensate  person.     For  temperance 


'  For  things  salubrious  are  changed,  together  with  the  disposi- 
tions of  bodies,  and  the  mutations  of  time. 


54 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


Book  ir. 


j  and  fortitude  are  corrupted  by  excess  and  defect,  but  are 
5  preserved  by  mediocrity.     Not  only,  however,  genera- 
tions, increments  and  corruptions,  are  produced  from 
and  by  the  same  things,  but  the  energies  also  [of  the 
virtues]  will  subsist  after  the  same  manner ;  since  this 
likewise  is  the  case  in  other  things  which  are  more  appa- 
rent ;  as,  for  instance,  in  strength.     For  strength  is  pro- 
duced by  taking  much  food,  and  enduring  many  labours, 
and  the  strong  man  is  especially  able  to  do  both  these. 
Thus,  too,  it  is  in  the  virtues ;  for  by  abstaining  from 
pleasures   we   become   temperate,   and   having  become 
temperate  we  are  especially  able  to  abstain  from  them. 
The  like  also  takes  place  in  fortitude;    for  by  being 
accustomed  to  despise  things  of  a  terrible  nature,  and  to 
endure  them,  we   become  brave,  and  having  become 
brave,  we  are  especially  able  to  endure  terrible  things. 


CHAPTER  III. 

It  is  necessary,  however,  to  consider  as  an  indication 
of  habits  the  pleasure  or  pain  which  is  attendant  on  ac- 
tions. For  he  who  abstains  from  corporeal  pleasures, 
and  is  delighted  in  so  doing,  is  a  temperate  man  ;  but  he 
who  is  grieved  when  he  abstains  from  them,  is  intempe- 
rate.    And  he,  indeed,  who  endures  dreadful  things,  and 


CHAK  HI. 


ETHICS. 


S5 


is  delighted  with  his  endurance,  or  feels  no  pain  from  it, 
is  a  brave  man  ;  but  he  who  feels  pain  from  the  endu- 
rance of  them,  is  a  timid  man.     For  ethical  virtue  is  I 
conversant  with  pleasures  and  pains.     For  we  act  basely 
through  the  influence  of  pleasure ;  but  we  abstain  from 
beautiful  conduct  through  the  influence  of  pain.    Hence '^ 
it  is  necessary,  as  Plato  says,  to  be  so  educated  in  a  certain 
respect  immediately  after  our  youth,  that  we  may  be  de- 
lighted and  pained  with  things  from  which  it  is  requisite 
to  feel   pleasure  or  pain;  for  this   is  right  education. 
Farther  still,  if  the  virtues  are  conversant  with  actions  and  \ 
passions,  but  pleasure  and  pain  are  consequent  to  every  ; 
passion  and  action,  on  this  account  also  virtue  will  be.' 
conversant  with  pleasures  and  pains.     The  punishments, 
likewise,  w^hich  are  inflicted  through  these,  indicate  the 
truth  of  this  ;  for  they  are  certain  remedies ;  but  reme- 
dies are  naturally  adapted  to  operate  through  contraries. 
Again,   as  we  have  also  before  observed,  the  nature  of 
every  habit  of  the  soul  is  referred  to  and  conversant  with 
those  things,  by  which  it  is  adapted  to  become  better  and 
worse.     But  habits  become  depraved  through  pleasures 
and  pains,  by  pursuing  or  avoiding  these,  either  such  as 
ought  not  to  be  pursued  or  avoided,  or  when  it  is  not 
proper,  or  in  such  a  way  as  is  not  proper,  or  in  as  many 
other  modes  as  such  things  are  distinguished  by  reason. 
Hence,  some  persons  define  the  virtues  to  be  certain 
apathies  and  tranquillities ;  but  they  do  not  define  them 
well,  because  they  speak  simply,  and  do  not  add,  in  such 
a  way  as  is  proper,  and  when  it  is  proper,  and  such  other 
additions  as  are  usually  made.     It  is  admitted,  therefore,  > 
that  virtue  is  a  thing  of  this  kind,  which  is  conversant 
with  pleasures   and  pains,  and  practises  thmgs  of  the  ) 
most  excellent  nature  ;  but  vice  is  the  contrary.     From 
what  has  been  said,  likewise,  we  may  obtain  still  greater 


56 


THE  NICOMACttEAN 


BOOK  II. 


evidence  about  these  things.  For  as  there  are  three  things 
which  pertain  to  choice,  and  also  three  which  pertain  to 
aversion,  viz^.  the  beautiful  in  conduct,  the  advantageous, 
-and  the  delightful,  and  three  the  contraries  to  these,  the 
base,  the  disadvantageous,  and  the  painful ;  the  good 
man,  indeed,  acts  rightly  in  all  these,  but  the  bad  man 
erroneously,  and  especially  in  what  pertains  to  pleasure. 
For  pleasure  is  common  to  all  animals,  and  is  consequent 
to  every  thing  which  is  the  object  of  choice ;  for  the 
beautiful  and  the  advantageous  appear  to  be  delightful. 
Again,  pleasure  is  co-nourished  with  all  of  us  from  our 
infancy ;  on  which  account  also  it  is  difficult  to  wipe 
away  this  passion,  with  which  our  life  is  imbued.  We 
likewise  direct  our  actions  by  pleasure  and  pain,  as  by  a 
rule,  some  of  us"  in  a  greater,  and  others  in  a  less  degree. 
On  this  account,  therefore,  it  is  necessary  that  the  whole 
of  this  discussion  should  be  conversant  with  these  things ; 
^for  to  rejoice  or  be  pained  properly  or  improperly,  is  of 
no  small  consequence  in  actions.  Farther  still,  it  is  more 
difficult  to  fight  with  pleasure,  than  with  anger,  as  Hera- 
clitus  says.  But  both  art  and  virtue  are  always  con- 
versant with  that  which  is  more  difficult ;  for  that  which 
is  well  done,  is  better  when  it  is  effected  with  greater 
difficulty.  Hence,  on  this  account,  also,  the  whole  busi- 
ness both  of  ethics  and  politics  is  conversant  with  plea- 
sures and  pains.  For  he  who  employs  these  well  will  be 
a  good  man,  but  he  will  be  a  bad  man  who  employs  them 
badly.  We  have  shown,  therefore,  that  virtue  is  con- 
versant with  pleasures  and  pains,  and  that  it  is  increased 
and  corrupted  by  the  same  things  by  which  it  is  produced, 
when  they  do  not  exist  after  .the  same  manner ;  and  that 
it  likewise  energizes  about  the  things  from  which  it 
originated. 


CHAP.  IV. 


ETHICS. 


57 


CHAPTER  IV. 


It  may,  however,  be  doubted  what  our  meaning  is  In 
asserting  that  men  by  acting  justly  become  just,  and 
temperate  by  acting  temperately ;  for  if  they  act  justly 
and  temperately,  they  are  already  just  and  temperate; 
just  as  those  who  perform  things  pertaining  to  grammar 
and  music,  are  grammarians  and  musicians.  Or  shall 
we  say,  that  this  is  not  the  case  in  the  arts  ?  For  it  is  pos- 
sible that  a  man  may  do  something  grammatical  both 
from  chance  and  the  suggestion  of  another  person.  He 
will,  therefore,  then  be  a  grammarian  if  he  both  does 
something  grammatical  and  grammatically,  that  is,  accord- 
ing to  the  grammatical  art  which  he  possesses.  Again, 
neither  is  the  thing  similar  in  the  arts  and  the  virtues ; 
for  things  produced  by  the  arts  contain  in  themselves 
efficient  excellence.  It  is  sufficient,  therefore,  to  these 
to  be  effected  with  a  certain  mode  of  subsistence ;  but 
things  which  are  performed  according  to  the  virtues,  are 
not  done  justly  or  temperately,  if  they  subsist  in  a  certain 
way,  but  if  he  who  does  them  does  them  In  consequence 
of  being  disposed  in  a  certain  way.  And,  in  the  first 
place,  indeed,  if  he  does  them  knowingly,  in  the  next 
place,  if  with  deliberate  choice,  and  also  deliberately 
choosing  to  do  them  on  their  own  account ;  and,  in  the 
third  place,  if  he  does  them  with  a  firm  and  immutable 


5S 


THE  NICOMACHEAN 


BOOi:  lU 


disposition  of  mind.  These  things,  however,  are  not 
connumerated  as  requisites  to  the  possession  of  the  other 
arts,  except  the  knowledge  of  them  alone.  But  to  the 
acquisition  of  the  virtues,  the  knowledge  of  them  is  of 
little  or  no  efBcacy,  while  the  other  particulars  pertaining 
to  them  are  capable  of  effecting  no  small  thing,  but  are 
all-powerful ;  and  these  are  obtained  from  frequently- 
acting  justly  and  temperately.  Things,  therefore,  are 
said  to  be  just  and  temperate,  when  they  are  such  as  a 
just  or  temperate  man  would  perform.  •  But  he  is  a  just 
and  temperate  man,  not  who  [merely]  does  these  things, 
but  who  does  them  so  as  just  and  temperate  men  do 
them.  It  is  well  said,  therefore,  that  a  man  becomes 
just  from  acting  justly,  and  temperate  from  acting  tem- 
perately, but  that  from  not  doing  these  things,  no  one 
will  ever  become  a  good  man.  The  multitude,  however, 
do  not  thus  act,  but  flying  to  words  they  fancy  they  shall 
philosophize,  and  thus  become  worthy  characters ;  act- 
ing similarly  to  sick  persons,  who  attentively  indeed  hear 
what  the  physicians  say,  but  do  nothing  which  they  order 
them  to  do.  As,  therefore,  these  by  such  a  method  of 
cure,  never  have  their  body  in  a  healthy  condition,  so 
neither  is  the  soul  of  those  ever  well  who  thus  philoso- 
phlze. 


CHAP.  V. 


ETHICS. 


59 


CHAPTER  V. 


In  the  next  place,  we  must  consider  what  virtue  is. 
Since,  therefore,  three  things  are  produced  in  the  soul, 
viz.  passions,  powers,  and  habits,  virtue  will  be  some 
one  of  these.     But  I  call  passions,  indeed,  desire,'  angei', 
audacity,  envy,  j®y,   love,  hatred,  cupidity,  emulation, 
pity,  and,  in  short,  those  things  to  which  pleasure  or 
pain  are  consequent.     And  I  denominate  powers,  those 
things  according  to  which  we  are  said  to  be  susceptible 
of  the  passions ;  viz.  according  to  which  we  are  able  to 
be  angry,  or  pained,  or  are  inclined  to  pity.     But  I  call 
habits  those  things  according  to  which  we  are  well  or  ill 
disposed  towards  the  passions.     Thus,  for  instance,  with 
respect  to  being  angry,  if  we  arc  vehemently  or  remissly 
disposed  towards  it,  we  are  badly  affected ;  but  if  mode- 
rately, we  are  well  affected  ;  and   in  a  similar  manner 
with  respect  to  the  other  passions.     Neither  the  virtues, 
therefore,  nor  the  vices  are  passions  ;  because  w^e  are 
not  said  to  be  worthy  or  depraved  according  to  the  pas- 
sions, but  we  are  said  to  be  so  according  to  the  vir- 
tues or  vices  j  and  because  according  to  the  passions  we 

*  By  desire,  as  I  have  before  observed  in  a  note  on  the  Rhetoric, 
is  to  be  understood,  that  irrational  appetite,  which  is  solely  directed 
to  external  objects,  and  to  the  gratification  arising  from  the  posses- 
sion of  them. 


60 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  II. 


are  neither  praised  nor  blamed.  For  neither  he  who  is 
afraid,  nor  he  who  is  angry  is  praised,  nor  is  he  who  is 
simply  angry  blamed,  but  he  who  is  angry  after  a  certain 
manner  ;  but  we  are  praised  or  blamed  according  to  the 
virtues  and  vices.  Farther  still,  we  may  be  angry  and 
afi^d  without  any  deliberate  intention  of  being  so ;  but 
the  virtues  are  certain  deliberate  elections,  or  are  not 
without  deliberate  choice.  In  addition  to  this  also,  we 
are  said  to  be  moved  according  to  the  passions,  but  we 
are  not  said  to  be  moved  according  to  the  virtues  and 
vices,  but  to  be  disposed  in  a  certain  way.  On  this 
account  neither  are  the  virtues  powers ;  for  we  are  nei- 
ther said  to  be  good  nor  bad  from  being  able  simply  to 
suffer,  nor  are  we  through  this  either  praised  or  blamed. 
And  again,  we  possess  powers  indeed  from  nature  ;  but 
from  nature  we  do  not  become  either  good  or  bad.  We 
have,  however,  spoken  concerning  this  before.  If,  there- 
fore, the  virtues  are  neither  passions  nor  powers,  it  remains 
that  they  are  habits.  And  thus  we  have  shown  what  vir- 
tue  is  generically. 


CHAP.   VI. 


ETHICS. 


61 


CHAPTER  VI. 


It  is  necessary,  however,  not  only  to  show  that  virtue 
is  ajiabit,  but  likewise  to  show  what  kind  of  a  habit  it 
is7    We  must  say,  therefore,  that  every  virtue,  renders 
that  of  which  it  is  the  virtue  well  disposed,  and  causes  its 
work  to  be  well  accomplished.     Thus,  for  instance,  the 
'  virtue  of  the  eye,  causes  both  the  eye  and  the  work  of  it 
to  be  good  ;  for  by  the  virtue  of  the  eye  we  see  well.    In 
a  similar  manner  the  virtue  of  a  horse  causes  the  horse  to 
be  good  for  the  race,  for  carrying  his  rider,  and  sustain- 
ing the  enemy  in   battle.     But   if  this  be  the  case  in 
all  things,  the  virtue  of  man  also  will  be  a  habit,  from 
which  man  becomes  good,  and  from  which  he  accom-  ^ 
plishes  his  own  work.     And  how  this  indeed  wiM  be 
effected  we  have  already  shown ;  but  it  will  again  be 
now  manifest,  if  we  consider  what  the  quality  is  of  the 
nature  of  virtue.     In  every  thing,  therefore,  which  is 
continued  and  divisible,  it  is  possible,  indeed,  to  assume 
the  more,  the  less,  and  the  equal ;  and  this  either  with 
respect  to  the  thing  itself,  or  with  reference  to  us.     But 
the  equal  is  a  certain  middle  between  excess  and  defect. 
I   call,  however,  the  middle   of  a  thing,  that  which  is 
equally  distant  from  each  of  the  extremes,  and  which  is 
one  and  the  same  in  all  things.     But  with   reference 
to  us  the  middle  is  that  which  neither  exceeds  nor  falls 
short  of  the  becoming.    This,  however,  is  neither  one 


63 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  II# 


nor  the  same  in  all  things.     Thus,  for  instance,  if  ten 
things  are  many,  but  two  a  few,  six  are  assumed  as  a 
medium  with  reference  to  the  thing,  for  six  equally  sur- 
passes and  is  surpassed.     But  this  is  a  middle  according 
to   arithmetical   proportion.     The   middle   or  medium, 
however,  with  reference  to  us,  is  not  thus  to  be  assumed. 
For  if  to  eat  ten  pounds,  is  to  eat  much,  but  two  pounds 
a  little,  it  does  not  follow  that  the  master  of  the  gymnas- 
tic exercises  will  order  six  pounds  to  be  eaten  ;  for  this 
perhaps  will  be   too  much  or  too   little  for  him  who 
is  to  take  food.     For  Milo,  indeed,  it  would  be  too  lit- 
tle; but  for  him  who  is  beginning  the  exercises  it  would 
be  too  much.     And  the  like  must  be  understood  of  the 
course  and  wrestling.      Thus,  therefore,  every  scientific 
man  will  avoid  excess  and  defect,  but  will  search  for  the 
medium,  and  make  this  the  object  of  his  choice*     He 
will,  however,  explore  that  medium,  which  is  not  the 
middle  of  the  thing,  but  is  a  middle  with  reference  to  us^ 
If,  therefore,  every  science  thus  well   accomplishes   its 
work,  when  it  looks  to  the  middle,  and  refers  its  works  to 
this ;  whence  it  is  usual  to  say  of  works  that  are  well 
finished,  that  nothing  can  be  added  to  or  taken  away 
from   them,  acknowledging  by   this,    that   excess   and 
defect  corrupt  that  which  is  excellent  in  them,  but  that 
mediocrity  preserves  this  ;  and  if  good  artists,  as  we  say, 
operate  looking  to  this,  but  virtue,  in  the  same  manner 
as  nature,  is  more  accurate  and  better  than  all  art ;  if  this 
be  the  case,  it  will  tend  to  the  medium  as  a  boundary.     I 
speak,  however,  of  ethical  virtue ;  for  this  is  conversant 
with  passions  and  actions ;  but  in  these  there  is  excess 
imd  defect,  and  the  middle.     Thus,  for  instance,  it  is 
possible  to  be  afraid,  to  be   confident,  to   desire   and 
*|lbhor,  to  be  angry  aad  to  pity,  and,  in  short,  to  be 


CHAP.  VI. 


ETHICS. 


63 


pleased  and  pained  ma  greater  and  less  degree,  and  to  be 
both  these  improperly.  But  to  have  these  passions  when 
it  is  proper,  and  in  such  things,  towards  such  persons, 
and  for  the  sake  of  that  which,  and  as,  it  is  proper — this 
is  the  middle  and  the  best,  and  pertains  to  virtue.  In  a 
similar  manner  also  in  actions,  there  is  excess  and  defect, 
and  the  middle ;  but  virtue  is  conversant  with  passions 
and  actions,  in  which  the  excess  indeed  is  erroneous,  and 
the  defect  is  blamed,  but  the  medium  is  praised  and  pos- 
sesses rectitude:  and  both  these  pertain  to  virtue.  Hence, 
virtue  is  a  certain  medium,  and  tends  to  the  middle  as  a 
boundary.  Again,  to  err  is  manifold  ;  for  evil,  as  the 
Pythagoreans  conjecture,  belongs  to  the  infinite,  and 
good  to  the  finite  ;  but  it  is  only  possible  to  act  rightly 
in  one  way.  Hence,  the  one  is  easy,  but  the  offier  diffi- 
cult ;  it  is  easy,  indeed,  to  deviate  from  the  mark,  but 
difficult  to  hit  it ;  and  on  this  account,  excess  and  defect 
belong  to  vice,  but  the  medium  to  virtue.     For, 


\ 


Simple  the  good,  all-various  are  the  bad. 

Virtue,  therefore,  is  a  pre-elective  habit,  [or  a  habit  ac- 
companied with  deliberate  choice]  existing  in  a  medium 
with  reference  to  us,  and  which  is  defined  by  reason, 
and  in  such  a  way  as  a  prudent  man  would  define  it.  It  is 
also  the  medium  between  two  vices,  the  one  being  charac- 
terized by  excess,  but  the  other  by  defect.  And  farther 
still,  it  is  defined  by  this,  that  some  of  the  vices  fall  short 
of,  but  others  surpass  the  becoming,  both  in  passions 
and  actions,  but  virtue  both  discovers  and  chooses  the 
medmm.  Hence,  according  to  essence,  and  the  defini- 
tion which  explains  the  very  nature  of  a  thing,  virtue  is 
a  medium  \  but  according  to  that  which  is  best,  and  sub- 


64 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  ir. 


sists  well,  it  is  a  summit.  Not  every  action,  however, 
nor  every  passion,  receives  a  medium ;  for  some  pas- 
sions, as  soon  as  they  are  named,  are  complicated  with 
depravity,  such  as  malevolence,  rejoicing  in  the  evils  of 
others,  impudence,  envy ;  and  in  actions,  adultery,  theft, 
and  murder.  For  all  these,  and  others  of  the  like  kind, 
are  thus  denominated,  because  they  are  themselves  bad, 
and  not  the  excesses,  nor  the  defects  of  them.  Hence, 
it  is  not  possible  at  any  time  to  act  rightly  in  these,  but 
they  are  always  attended  with  error.  Nor  does  acting 
well,  or  not  acting  well,  in  things  of  this  kind,  consist  in 
committing  adultery,  when,  and  as  it  is  proper,  but 
amply  to  do  any  oi  these  things  is  to  act  wrong.  To 
require,  therefore,  a  medium  in  these,  is  just  as  if  some 
one  should  think  it  proper  that  there  should  be  a 
medium,  excess,  and  defect,  in  doing  an  injury,  and  in 
acting  timidly  and  intemperately ;  for  thus  there  would 
be  a  middle  of  excess  and  defect,  and  an  excess  of 
excess,  and  a  deficiency  of  defect.  As,  however, 
there  is  no  excess  and  defect  of  temperance  and  forti- 
tude, because  the  middle  is  in  a  certain  respect  the  sum- 
mit ;  so  neither  is  there  a  middle,  excess  and  defect  in 
those  passions  and  actions,  but  in  whatever  manner  they 
are  exerted  they  are  attended  with  error.  For,  in  short, 
neither  is  there  a  middle  of  excess  or  defect,  nor  are 
there  excess  and  defect  of  the  middle. 


CHAP*  VII. 


ETHICS* 


65 


CHAPTER  VIL 


It  is  necessary,  however,  not  only  to  assert  this  uni- 
yersally,  but  also  to  adapt  it  to  particulars.     For  in  what 
is  said  concerning  actions,  universal  assertions  indeed  are 
more  common ;  but  those  that  are  particular  are  more 
true  ;  since  actions  are  conversant  with  particulars,  with 
which  assertions  ought  to  accord.     These,  therefore,  are 
to  be  assumed  from  description.    Of  fear  and  confidence, 
therefore,  fortitude  is  the  medium.     Of  the  characters' 
however,  which  exceed,  the  one  indeed  which  exceeds  by 
a  privation  of  fear  is  anonymous ;  but  that  which  ex- 
ceeds  in  confidence  is  audacious.     And  he  who  exceeds 
in  being  afraid,  but  is  deficient  in  confidence,  is  timid.   In 
pleasures  and  pains,  however,  though  not  in  all  pleasures, 
[but  in  such  as  are  corporeal,  and  in  those  especially 
which  pertain  to  the  touch,]  and  in  a  less  degree  in  pains, 
the  medium  indeed  is  temperance,  but  the  excess  intern! 
perance.     But  those  who  are  deficient  in  the  pursuit  of 
pleasures   do   not  very   frequently   occur  j    on    which 
account  neither  have  they  obtained  a  name.     They  may, 
however,  be  called  insensate.     In  giving  and  receiving 
money^  the  medium  indeed  is  liberality,  but  the  excess 
and  defect  are  prodigality  and  illiberality  5  in  which  men 
exceed  and  are  deficient  in  a  contrary  way.     For  the 
prodigal  indeed  exceeds  in  spending  money,  but  is  defi- 
cient m  receiving  it;  and  the  illiberal  man  exceeds  in 
receivmg,  but  is  deficient  in  spending  money.  At  present, 
therefore,  we  think  it  sufficient  summarily  to  adumbrate 

-^^^*  VOL.  n.  JB 


^6 


THE    NIC0MA€HEAN 


BOOK  lU 


these  things  ;  but  afterwards  we  shall  discuss  them  more 
accurately.     With  respect  to  wealth,  however,  there  are 
also  other  dispositions  of  the  mind ;  and  the  medium, 
indeed,   is  magnificence.      For   the  magnificent  differs 
from  the  liberal  man  in  this,  that  the  former  is  conver- 
sant with  great,  but  the  latter  with  small  things.      The 
excess,  however,  is  an  ignorance  of  elegance  and  deco- 
rum, and  illiberal  profusion  ;  but  the  defect  is  an  indeco- 
rous  parsimony  in  spending  money.     And  these  vices 
differ  from  those  which  surround  liberality  ;  but  in  what 
they  differ,  we  shall  afterwards  show.      With  respect  to 
honour  and  ignominy,  the    medium  indeed   is  magna- 
nimity, but  the  excess"is  called  a  certain  inflation  of  the 
mind,  and  the  defect  pusillanimity.      As  we  have  said, 
however,  that  liberality  corresponds  to  magnificence,  but 
differs  from  it  in  this,  that  it  is  conversant  with  small 
things;  so  to  magnanimity  which  is  conversant  with  great 
honour,  another  certain  virtue  corresponds,  and  which 
also  is  itseliF  conversant  with  what  is  small.    For  it  is  pos- 
sible to  aspire  after  honour  in  such  a  manner  as  is  pro- 
per, and  more  and  less  than  is  proper.     But  he,  j^ho 
exceeds  in  his  desires  of  honour  is  said  to  be  ambitiouSjr 
he  who  is  deficient  is  unambitious,  and  the  middle  charac- 
«r  between  both  is  anonymous*     The  dispositions  also 
are  anonymous,  except  the  disposition  of  the  ambitious 
man,  which  is  denominated  ambition*      Hence,  the  ex- 
tremes contend  for  the  middle  place.      And  we  indeed 
sometimes  call  the  middle  character  ambitious,  and  some- 
times  unambitious ;  and  sometimes  we  praise  the  ambi- 
tious, and  sometimes  the  unambitious  man.      But  from 
what  cause  we  do  this,  will  be  shown  hereafter.     Now, 
^however,  conformably  to  the  manner  in  which  we  begun, 
let  us  speak  about  the  rest. 


CHAP.  VII. 


ETHICS. 


6'7 


With  respect  to  anger,  therefore,  there  is  likewise 
excess,  defect,  and  a  medium ;  but  since  these  are  nearly 
anonymous,  we  call  the  middle  character  a  mild  man,  and 
the  medium  mildness.     But  of  the  extremes,  let   him 
who  exceeds  be  wrathful,  and  the  vice  be  wrathfulness. 
And  let  him  who  is  deficient  be  a  man  void  of  anger, 
and  the  defect  a  privation  of  anger.     There  are  likewise 
three  other  media,  which  have,  indeed,  a  certain  simili- 
tude to  each  other,  but  differ  from  each  other.     For  all 
of  them  are  conversant  with  the  communion  of  words 
and  actions ;  but  they  differ,  because  one  of  them  is  con* 
versant  with  the  truth  which  is  in  them,  but  the  others 
are  conversant  with  the  delectable.    And  of  this  (viz.  the 
delectable)  one  kind  consists  in  jest ;  but  another,  in  all 
the  concerjis.of  life.     We  must,~therefore,  also  speak 
concerning  these,  in  order  that  we  may  in  a  greater  de- 
gree perceive,  that  in  every  thing  the  medium  is  laudable, 
but  the  extremes  are  neither  right  nor  laudable,   but 
reprehensible.     Of  these,  therefore,  the  greater  part  also 
are  anonymous ;  but  we  must  endeavour,  in  the  same 
iBftimer  as  in  the  rest,  to  give  names  to  them,  for  the 
sake  of  perspicuity,  and  the  facility  of  understanding  what 
follows. 


With  respect  to  jruth,  therefore,  the  middle  character 
may  be  called  veracious,  and  the  medium,  truth  ;  but  of 
(dissimulation,  that  kind  which  exaggerates  may  be  called 
arrogance,  and  he  who  possesses  it  an  arrogant  man;  and 
that  which  extenuates  may  be  called  irony,  and  he  who 
employs  it  may  be  denominated  ironical,  or  a  dissembler. 
With  respect,  however,  to  the  delectable,  and  that  kind 
which  consists  in  jest,  the  middle  character,  indeed, 
may  be  called  facetious,  and  the  disposition  itself  face- 


GS 


THE    KICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  II* 


tiousness  ;  but  the  excess  may  be  denominated  scurrility, 
and  he  who  possesses  it  a  scurrilous  man  ;  and  he  who  is 
deficient  may  be  called  a  rustic  man,  and  the  habit  itself, 
rusticity.     In  the  other  'species  of  the  delectable,  which 
pertains  to  the  concerns  of  life,  he  who  delights  in  such 
a  way  as  is  proper,  is  a  friend,  and  the  medium  is  friend- 
ship ;  but  he  who  exceeds,  if  it  is  not  with  a  view  to  any 
advantage,  is  studious  of  pleasing,  but  if  for  the  sake  of 
advantage,  is  a  flatterer.     And  he  who  is  deficient,  and 
in  all  things  unpleasant,  is  contentious,  and  difficult  to  be 
pleased.     There  are,  likewise,  media  in  the  passions,  and 
in  things  pertaining  to  the  passions ;  for  bashfulness  is 
not  a  virtue,  and  yet  the  modest  man  is  praised.     For  ia 
these  things,  one  indeed  is  called  the  middle  character, 
another  is  said  to  exceed,  and  another  to  be  deficient. 
And  he  indeed  who  exceeds,  and  is  bashful  in  all  things, 
is  as  it  were  astounded ;  but  he  who  is  deficient,  and  is 
not  ashamed  of  any  thing,  is  impudent ;  and  the  middle 
character  is  the  modest  man.    Indignation  is  a  medium 
between  envy  and  joy  for  the  calamities  of  others ;  but 
these  habits  are  conversant  with  the  pain  and  ple«9W« 
arising  from  what  happens  to  others.     For  he  who  is 
propense  to  mdignation,  is  indeed  pained  from  those  that 
do  well  undeservedly  ;  but  he  who  is  envious,  surpassing 
the  indignant  man,  is  pained  from  all  that  do  well ;  and 
he  who  rejoices  in  the  calamities  of  others,  is  so  much 
deficient  in   feeling   pain  [from  the  prosperity  of  bad 
men,]  that  he  is  delighted  with  it.     These  things,  how- 
ever, atfe  discussed  by  us  elsewhere,  [i.  e.  in  the   2nd 
book  of  the  Rhetoric]     With  respect  to  justice,  how- 
ever, since  it  is  not  predicated  simply,  we  shall  make  it 
the  subject  of  discussion  hereafter,  [viz.  in  the  5th  book,] 
and  show  how  each  of  its  parts  is  a  medium.    In  a  simi- 


CHAP.  VIII. 


ETHICS, 


69 


lar  manner,  also,  we  shall  speak  concerning  the  rational 
[or  intellectual]  virtues  [in  the  6th  book]. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 


Since,  however,  there  are  three  dispositions  of  the 
soul,  two  indeed  of  vices,  of  which  the  one  subsists 
according  to  excess,  but  the  other  according  to  defect, 
and  since  virtue  is  one  of  these  dispositions,  and  is  a 
medium,  all  these  three  dispositions  are  in  a  certain  re- 
spect opposed  to  all.  For  the  extremes  are  contrary  to 
tlir  middle,  and  to  each  other,  but  the  middle  is  contrary 
to  the  extremes.  For  as  the  equal  is,  with  reference  to 
the  less,  greater,  but  with  reference  to  the  greater,  less ; 
thus  the  middle  habits  exceed  with  reference  to  the  defi- 
ciencies, but  are  defective  with  reference  to  the  excesses, 
both  in  passions  and  actions.  For  the  brave  with  refer- 
ence to  the  timid  man  appears  to  be  audacious,  but  with 
reference  to  the  audacious  man,  timid.  In  a  similar  man- 
ner, also,  the  temperate  man  with  reference  to  him  who 
is  insensate  appears  to  be  intemperate,  but  with  reference 
to  the  intemperate  man,  insensate.  But  the  liberal  when 
contrasted  with  the  illiberal  man  appears  to  be  a  prodigal, 
but  when  compared  with  the  prodigal,  illiberal.    Hence, 


70 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


B06K  n. 


the  extremes  propel  the  medium  each  to  the  other,  HHd 
the  timid  calls  indeed  the  brave  man  audacious,  but  the 
audacious  man  calls  him  timid ;  and  analogously  in  the 
other  extremes.  These,  however,  being  thus  opposed 
to  each  other,  there  is  a  greater  contrariety  in  the  ex- 
tremes to  each  other,  than  to  the  medium;  for  these  are 
more  remote  from  each  other  than  from  the  medium  ; 
just  as  the  great  is  more  remote  from  the  small,  and  the 
small  from  the  great,  than  both  of  them  are  from  the 
equal.  Farther  still,  in  some  extremes  there  appears  to 
be  a  certain  similitude  to  the  medium,  as  in  audacity  to 
fortitude,  and  in  prodigality  to  liberality  ;  but  in  th^  ex- 
tremes there  is  the  greatest  dissimilitude  to  each  other. 
Things,  however,  which  are  very  distant  from  each  other, 
are  defined  to  be  contraries ;  so  that  those  things  which 
are  more  distant  are  more  contrary  to  each  other,  fiut 
to  the  medium,  in  some  things,  indeed,  the  deficiency  is 
more  opposed,  and  in  others  the  excess.  Thus,  to  forti- 
tude, audacity,  indeed,  which  is  an  excess,  is  not  opposed, 
but  timidity,  which  is  a  defect ;  and  to  temperance,  the 
want  of  sensibility,  which  is  an  indigence,  is  not  opposed, 
but  intemperance,  which  is  an  excess.  This,  however, 
happens  from  two  causes ;  one  indeed  from  the  thing 
itself;  for  one  of  the  extremes  being  nearer  to,  and 
more  similar  to  the  medium  than  the  other,  hence,  not 
this,  but  the  contrary,  is  more  opposed  to  it.  Thus,  for 
instance,  since  audacity  appears  to  be  more  similar  and 
nearer  to  fortitude,  but  timidity  appears  to  be  more  dissi- 
milar, on  this  account  we  oppose  the  latter  to  fortitude 
rather  than  the  former.  For  things  which  are  more 
distant  from  the  medium,  appear  to  be  more  contrary. 
This,  therefore,  is  one  cause  from  the  thing  itself ;  but 
another  cause  is  from  ourselves.     For  those   vices  to 


CHAP.  IX. 


ETHICS, 


11 


Avhich  we  are  naturally  more  adapted,  appear  to  be  more 
contrary  to  the  medium.  Thus,  because  we  are  naturally 
more  adapted  to  pleasures,  we  are  more  easily  impelled 
ta  intemperance  than  to  moderation  in  the  pursuit  of 
pleasure.  Those  things,  therefore,  are  said  to  be  in  a 
greater  degree  contraries,  to  which  a  greater  accession  is 
made ;  and  on  this  account  intemperance,  which  is  an 
excess,  is  more  contrary  to  temperance  [than  the  other 
extreme]. 


CHAPTER    IX, 


That  ethical  virtue,  therefore,  is  a  medium,  and  how 
It  is  80,  and  that  it  is  a  medium  between  two  vices,  the 
one  existing  according  to  excess,  but  the  other  according 
to  defect,  and  that  it  is  such  in  consequence  of  looking 
to  the  medium  in  passions  and  actions  as  to  a  mark,  has 
been  sufficiently  shown.  Hence,  also,  it  is  laborious  to 
be  worthy ;  for  in  every  thing  it  is  laborious  to  obtain 
the  middle.  Thus,  the  middle  of  a  circle  cannot  be  dis-l 
covered  by  every  one,  but  by  him  who  is  skilled  [inj 
geometry].  In  like  manner,  to  be  angry,  and  to  give 
and  spend  money,  is  in  the  power  of  every  one,  and  is 
^^y ;  but  to  be  angry,  ^d  to  give  and  spend  money  to 
whom,  and  as  much,  ?ind  when,  and  on  what  account, 


\ 


72 


THE   NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  2I« 


CHAP.  IX. 


ETlttlCS. 


73 


and  as  it  is  proper,  cannot  be  accomplished  by  every 
one,  nor  is  it  easy.  For  this  is  to  act  rightly,  and  is  rare, 
and  laudable,  and  beautiful.  Hence,  it  is  necessary  that 
he  whose  attention  is  directed  to  the  medium  as  to  a  mark, 
shouU  first  recede  from  that  which  is  more  contrary,  as 
Calypso  also  admonishes : 

Far  from  the  smoke  and  waves  direct  the  helm.  * 

For  of  the  extremes,  the  one,  indeed,  is  more  erroneous, 
but  the  other  less.  Since,  therefore,  it  is  difficult  to  ob- 
tain the  medium  accurately,  by  making  a  second  *  naviga- 
tion, as  they  say,  the  least  of  the  evils  must  be  assumed  j 
but  this  will  especially  be  effected  in  the  way  we  have 
mentioned.  It  is  likewise  requisite  to  consider  what  the 
vices  are  to  which  we  are  most  propense ;  for  different 
men  are  naturally  prone  to  different  vices.  But  this  will 
be  known  from  the  pleasure  and  pain  with  which  we  are 
affected.  We  ought,  however,  to  draw  ourselves  to  the 
contrary  part ;  for  by  removing  ourselves  very  far  from 
error,  we  shall  arrive  at  the  medium,  which  those  da 
who  straighten  distorted  pieces  of  wood.  But  in  every 
thing  we  should  especially  avoid  the  delectable  and  plea* 
sure;  for  we  are  not  uncorrupted  judges  of  it.  In  the 
same  manner,  therefore,  as  the  Trojan  nobles  were 
affected  towards  Helen,  we  ought  to  be  affected  towards 
pleasure,  and  in  every  thing  [where  pleasure  is  concern* 

*  This,  however,  was  not  the  admonition  of  Calypso,  but  of 
Ulysses  to  his  pilot,  in  consequence  of  the  advice  he  had  received 
from  Circe.    The  passage  is  in  Odyss.  12.  v.  219. 

*  i.  e.  If  we  fail  In  the  first,  we  must  make  a  second  navigation ; 
if  we  cannot  use  sails,  we  must  employ  oars,  in  order  that  our 
voyage  may  be  as  prosperous  as  circumstances  will  permit. 


ec^]  to  employ  their  decision ;  for  thus,  by  dismissing  it, 
we  shall  err  in  a  less  degree.  By  thus  acting,  therefore, 
in  short,  we  shall  be  especially  able  to  obtain  the  medium. 
Perhaps,  however,  this  is  difficult,  and  principally  in  par- 
ticulars ;  for  it  is  not  easy  to  determine  how,  and  with 
whom,  and  on  what  account,  and  for  how  long  a  time, 
it  is  requisite  to  be  angry.  For  we,  indeed,  sometimes 
praise  those  who  are  defective  in  anger,  and  call  them 
mild ;  but  at  other  times  we  praise  those  who  are  exaspe- 
rated, and  call  them  virile.  He,  however,  who  deviates 
but  a  little  from  rectitude,  whether  he  inclines  to  the 
more  or  to  the  less,  is  not  blamed ;  but  he  who  deviates 
much  from  it ;  for  the  error  of  such  a  one  is  not  latent. 
It  cannot,  however,  be  easily  determined  to  what  extent, 
and  how  much  he  is  blameable ;  as  neither  is  this  easy 
in  any  other  sensible  thing.  But  things  of  this  kind  rank 
among  particulars,  and  the  judgment  of  them  pertains 
to  sense.  Thus  much,  therefore,  is  indeed  manifest, 
that  the  middle  habit  is  in  all  things  laudable ;  and  that 
it  is  necessary  at  one  time  to  incline  to  excess,  and  at 
smother  to  deficiency ;  for  thus  we  shall  easily  obtain 
the  medium,  and  rectitude  of  conduct. 


THE 


NICOMACIIEAN    ETHICS. 


■  ■«■    liM     ^H 


BOOK    in.         eJ 


CHAPTER  I. 


Since,  therefore,  virtue  is  conversant  with  passions  and 
actions,  and  praise  and  blame  accompany  things  of  a 
voluntary  nature,  but  pardon,  and  sometimes  pity,  such 
as  are  voluntary,  it  is  perhaps  necessary  that  those  who 
speculate  concerning  virtue,  should  define  the  voluntary 
and  involuntary.  This  will  also  be  useful  to  legislators, 
in  conferring  rewards,  and  inflicting  punishments.  But 
those  actions  appear  to  be  involuntary  which  are  done 
by  force,  or  through  ignorance.  And  the  violent  is  that 
the  principle  of  which  is  external,  being  of  such  a  nature, 
tliat  it  contributes  nothing  to  the  advantage  of  him  who 


% 


76 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  Illi- 


acts,  or  of  him  who  suffers  5  as  if,  for  instance,  the  wind, 
or  men  who  are  the  masters  of  some  one,  should  bring 
him  to  a  certain  place.  With  respect  to  such  things, 
however,  as  are  performed  through  the  fear  of  greater 
evils,  or  for  the  sake  of  something  beautiful  in  conduct  j 
^s  if  a  tyrant  who  is  the  lord  of  parents  and  children, 
should  command  some  one  to  do  a  certain  base  action, 
and  on  these  conditions,  that  if  he  did  it,  his  parents  and 
children  should  be  saved,  but  if  he  did  not,  they  should 
die ; — with  respect  to  such  things  as  these,  it  is  dubious 
whether  they  are  involuntary,  or  voluntary.  Something 
of  the  like  kind  also  happens  in  losses  at  sea,  when  in  a 
tempest  the  goods  of  the  ship  are  thrown  overboard ; 
for  simply  considered,  no  one  throws  them  into  the  sea 
willingly,  but  every  one  who  is  endued  with  intellect 
does  so  for  his  own  safety  and  that  of  the  rest  of  the 
crew.  Such  like  actions,  therefore,  are  mixed ;  but 
they  are  more  similar  to  voluntary  actions  ;  for  they  are 
then  eligible  when  they  are  performed  5  but  the  end  of 
the  action  is  according  to  opportunity.  A  thing,  there^ 
fore,  must  be  said  to  be  done  voluntarily  or  involuntarily, 
then  when  it  is  done.  But  he  threw  his  goods  into  the 
sea  voluntarily  ;  for  the  principle  of  moving  the  organic 
parts  in  such  like  actions  is  in  the  man  himself.  But  ' 
those  things  of  which  the  principle  is  in  himself,  he  has 
th^  power  to  perform  or  not.  Such  things,  therefore, 
are  voluntary,  Simply  considered,  however,  they  are 
perhaps  involuntary  ;  for  no  one  would  choose  any  one 
of  these  on  its  own  account.  But  in  such  like  actions, 
men  are  sometimes  praised,  when  they  endure  something 
disgraceful  or  painful,  for  the  sake  of  great  and  beautiful 
circumstances;  and  if  they  do  otherwise,  they  are  bla- 
\    med.    For  to  endure  the  most  disgraceful  things,  with  a 


tnAT.  u 


ETHICS. 


n 


view  to  nothing  beautiful  or  moderate,  is  the  part  pf  a 
bad  man.    To  other  things,  however,  no  praise  is  given, 
but  pardon  is  granted  to  them,  when  a  man  does  what 
he  ought  not  to  do,  in  consequence  of  being  compelled 
by  such  things  as  surpass  human  nature,  and  which  no 
one  can  endure.     And  perhaps  there  are  some  things 
which  we  ought  never  to  do  by  any  compulsion,  but  we 
ought  to  suffer  the  most  dreadful  evils,  and  die  rather 
than  do  them ;  for  those  circumstances  appear  to  be 
ridiculous  which  compelled  the  Alcmseon  of  Euripides 
to  kill  his  mother.     It  is,  however,  sometimes  difficult 
to  judge  what  is  to  be  chosen  in  preference  to  something 
else,  and  whether  this  is  to  be  endured  instead  of  tfial ; 
and  it  is  still  more  difficult  to  persevere  in  our  decisions; 
since,  for  the  most  part,  things  which  are  expected,  are 
attended  with  molestation,  and  things  which  we  are  com- 
pelled to  do  are  base.     Hence,  both  praise  and  blame 
are  given  to  those  that  act  from  compulsion,  and  to  those 
who  do  not.     What  kind  of  things,  therefore,  are  to  be 
called  violent?  Shall  wc  say,  that  ihcy  are  then  simply 
to  Joe  called  so,  when  the  cause  is  in  things  ex^rnal,  and 
the  agent  contributes  nothing  to  the  action  £  But  things 
which  are  of  themselves  involuntary,  indeed,  Dnt  are  now 
eligible,  and  are  eligible^  instead  of  certain  other  things, 
and  the  principle  of  which  is  in  the  agent, — these  are  of 
themselves  indeed,  involuntary,  but  now,  and  instead  of 
certain  other  things,  are  voluntary.     They  are,  however, 
more  similar  to  voluntary  actions ;  for  actions  are  con- 
versaut  with  particulars ;  and  these  are  voluntarily  per- 
formed.    It  is  not,  however,  easy  to  show  what  things 
are  to  be  chosen  in  preference  to  others,  for  there  are  K 
many  differences  in  particulars.     But  if  it  should  be  said  \ 
that  things;  delectable  and  beautiful  are  violent ;  for  they 


78 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  lit. 


CHAP.  I.. 


ETHICS. 


79 


i:ompeI  us  to  act,  being  external ;— if  this  should  be  said, 
/  all  things  will  thus  be  violent.     For  all   men  do  every 
thing  for  the  sake  of  these.     And  those,    indeed,  who 
act  from  violence,   and  unwillingly,  act  painfully ;  but 
^^those  who  are  influenced  by  the  delectable,  act  with  plea^ 
Sire.     It  is  therefore  ridiculous  for  a  man  to  accuse  ex- 
ternal things,  and  not  himself,  when  he  is  easily  capti-^ 
'  vated  by  things  of  this  kind,  and  to  consider  himself  as 
the  cause  of  beautiful  actions,  but  delectable  things  as  the 
.  causes  of  his  base  actions.     Hence,  the  violent  appears  to 
be  that  the  principle  of  which  is  external,  and  to  which 
the  thing  compelled  contributes  nothing. 

^   ^    Every  thing,  however,  which  is  done  from  ignorance 
^^  \  is  not  voluntary.     But  that  is  involuntary  which  is  at- 
tended with  pain  and  repentance.     For  he  who  does  any 
thing  from  ignorance,  and  is  not  at  all  indignant  with  the 
action,  does  not  indeed  perform  it  willingly,  because  he 
.      acts  from  ignorance  ;  nor  yet  again,  does  he  perform  it 
unwillingly,  in  consequence  of  feeling  no  pain  from  the 
action.     Of  those,  therefore,  w^ho  act  from  ignorance,  he 
who  repents  of  what  he  has  done,  appears  to  have  acted 
unwillingly  ;  but  he  who  does  not  repent,  since  he  is  a 
different  character  from  the  other,  may  be  said  to  have 
acted  not  willingly.    For  since  he  is  a  different  character, 
it  is  better  that  he  should  have  a  proper  name.     To  act 
Jrom  ignorance,  likewise,  appears  to  be  a  different  thing 
from  acting  ignorantJy  ;  for  he  who  is  intoxicated  or  en- 
raged,  does  not  appear  to  act  from  ignorance,  but  from 
some  one  of  the  above-mentioned  circumstances  ;  yet  not 
knowingly,  but  ignorantly.     Every  depraved  man,  there- 
fore, is  ignorant  what  ought  to  be  done,  and  from  what 
acdons  he  should  abstain  ^  and  from  error  of  this  kind. 


men  become  unjust,  and  in  short  bad.  But  an  action 
ought  to  be  called  involuntary,  not  if  he  who  does  it  is 
ignorant  of  what  is  advantageous ;  for  ignorance  in  the 
deliberate  choice  of  a  thing,  is  not  the  cause  of  involun- 
tary conduct,  but  of  depravity.  Nor  is  the  ignorance  of 
universal,  the  cause  of  it ;  for  men  are  blamed  on  this 
account ;  but  it  arises  from  the  ignorance  of  particularSj 
in  which,  and  about  which,  every  action  is  conversant* 
For  in  these  there  is  pity  and  pardon  ;  since  he  who  is 
ignorant  of  any  one  of  these,  acts  involuntarily.  Perhaps, 
however,  it  will  not  be  amiss,  to  define  what,  and  how 
many  [the  particular  circumstances  are  which  render  an 
action  involuntary.]]  They  are,  therefore,  the  circum- 
stance of  the  principal  agent,  the  circumstance  of  the 
instrumental  agent,  the  circumstance  of  the  end,  and  the 
circumstances  of  the  action  itself.  No  one,  therefore, 
will  be  ignorant  of  all  these  unless  he  is  insane^  But  it 
is  evident  that  neither  will  he  who  acts  be  ignorant  of 
them  ;  for  how  can  he  be  ignorant  of  himself.  A  man, 
however,  may  be  ignorant  of  what  he  does ;  as  is  the 
case  with  those  who  say  that  they  have  spoken  unawares, 
or  tliat  they  did  not  know  that  what  they  said  was  ar- 
cane, as  jEschylus  with  respect  to  the  mysteries  ;*  or  as 
when  some  one  throws  a  catapulta,  not  knowing  what 
he  throws,  A  person,  also,  may  fancy,  like  Merope,  that 
a  son  is  an  enemy,  and  that  a  spear  which  has  a  sharp 
point,  is  blunt  like  a  ball,  or  that  a  stone  is  a  pumice. 
A  man,  likewise,  striking  another  with  a  view  to  his 
safety,  may  kill  him,  and  wishing  to  show  the  mode  of 

t  ^schylus  had  divulged  the  mysteries  in  one  of  his  tragedies, 
for  which  he  was  tried  in  the  Areopagus,  but  was  acquitted  by  show- 
ing that  he  was  not  initiated. 


I 


80 


THE  i^ICOMACHEA>r 


*£00K  IIT# 


exercise  m  wrestlings  he  may  strike  him  whom  he  wish- 
ed to  instruct.     As  there  is  ignorance,  therefore,  in  all 
these  particulars,  in  which  there  is  action,  he  who  is  ig- 
norant of  some  one  of  them,  appears  to  have  acted  in- 
voluntarily, and  especially  in  those  things  which  are  of 
principal  importance.     But  those  appear  to  be  of  prin- 
cipal importance,  in  which  there  is  action,  and  that  for 
the  sake  of  which  action  is  undertaken.     Since  the  invo- 
luntary, therefore,  is  denominated  from  an  ignorance  of 
this  kind,  it  is  besides   this  necessary   that  the   action 
should  be  painful,  and  attended  with  repentance.     But 
as  the  involuntary  is  that  which  is  done  from  violence, 
and  through  ignorance,  the  voluntary  will  appear  to  be 
that  of  which  the  principle  is  in  the  agent,  who  knows 
the  particulars  in  which  the  action  consists.    For  perhaps 
it  is  not  well   said,    that  actions   which  are   produced 
through  anger  or  desire  are  involuntary.    For  in  the  first 
place,  indeed,  if  this  were   admitted,   no  other  animal 
would  act  voluntarily,  nor  would  children.     And  in  the 
next  place,   whether  are  any  of  the  actions  which  we 
perform  through  the  influence  of  desire  or  anger,  done 
by  us  voluntarily  ?  Or,  shall  we  say  that  worthy  actions 
\  are  performed  by  us  voluntarily,  but  base  actions  invo- 
^  luntarily  ?    Or  would  not  this  be  ridiculous,  since  there 
is  one  cause  of  both  these  ?  Perhaps  too,  it  is  absurd,   to 
call  those  things  involuntary,  after  which  it  is  requisite  to 
aspire.     But  it  is  necessary  to  be  angry  with   certain 
things,  and  to  desire  others,  such  as  health  and  disd^ 
pHne.     It  appears,  however,  that  things  involuntary  are 
I  painful,  but  that  those  which  are  the  objects  of  desire  are 
\  delectable.     Again,  what  difference  is  there  t|etween  the 
errors  which  are  caused  by  reason  or  by  anger,  with  re- 
spect to  their  being  involuntary  ?  For  both  are  to  be 


^ 


Ap.ir. 


ETHICS* 


SI 


avoided.  The  irrational  passions,  also,  do  not  appear  to 
be  less  human ;  but  the  actions  of  man  proceed  both 
from  anger  and  desire.  It  would  be  absurd,  therefore, 
to  consider  these  as  involuntary^ 


CHAPTER   IL 


•-Having,  therefore,  defined  the  voluntary  and  invo-» 
luntary,  it  follows  that  we  should  discuss  pre-election,  or 
deliberate  choice.     For  deliberate  choice  appears  to  be 
most  allied  to   virtue,  and  by  this   [as  a  rule]  a  judg- 
ment may  be  formed  of  manners  more  than  by  actions* 
Deliberate  choice,  therefore,  appears    indeed    to    be  a 
voluntary  thing,  yet  it  is  not  the  same  with  what  is  volun- 
tary, but  the  voluntary  is  more  extended.     For  of  the 
voluntary,  children,  and  other  animals,  partake,  but  they 
do  not  partake  of  deliberate  choice.     And  we  say,  in- 
deed, that  things  which  we  do  suddenly,  are  done  volun- 
tarily, but  not  according  to  deliberate  choice.     But  those 
who  call  it  desire,  or  anger,  or  will,  or  a  certain  opinion, 
do  not  appear  to  speak  rightly.     For  deliberate  choice 
is  not  common  to  us  and  irrational  animals  ^  but  desire 
and  anger  are.     And  the  incontinent  man,  indeed,  acts 
fiom  the  influence  of  desire,  but  not   from  deliberate 
choice.     On  the  contrary,  the  continent  man  acts  from  \ 
ArisL  VOL.  11.  p 


82 


THE   NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  III. 


CHAPrni. 


ETHICS. 


deliberate  choice,  and  not  from  the  impulse  of  desire. 
And  desire  indeed  is  contrary  to  deliberate  choice,  but 
desire  is  not  contrary  to  desire.  Desire,  likewise,  is  con- 
versant both  with  that  which  is  delectable,  and  that 
which  is  painful ;  but  deliberate  choice  is  neither  conver- 
sant with  the  painful,  nor  the  delectable.  Much  less  is 
deliberate  choice  anger ;  for  in  the  smallest  degree  do 
things  which  are  effected  through  anger  appear  to  be 
effected  by  deliberate  choice.  Nor  yet  is  it  will,  though 
will  appears  to  be  near  to  it.  For  deliberate  choice,  in- 
deed, is  not  among  the  number  of  things  impossible ;  and 
if  any  one  should  say  that  he  deliberately  chooses  im- 
possibilities, he  would  appear  to  be  stupid.  The  will, 
however,  is  directed  to  things  which  are  impossible,  as, 
for  instance,  to  immortality.  And  the  will,  indeed,  is  also 
conversant  wdth  things  which  can  by  no  means  be  ac- 
complished by  him  who  wills  ;  a»  that  a  certain  flayer, 
or  person  engaged  in  athletic  contests,  may  be  victorious. 
No  one,  however,  deliberately  chooses  things  of  this  kind, 
but  such  only  as  he  thinks  can  be  effected  through  him- 
self. Farther  still,  the  will,  indeed,  is  more  directed  to 
the  end,  but  deliberate  choice  to  things  pertaining '  to  the 
end.  Thus,  we  wish  to  be  well,  but  we  deliberately 
choose  those  things  through  which  we  become  well ;  and 
we  wish  indeed  to  be  happy,  and  we  say  that  this  is  our 
wish  J  biit  it  is  not  fit  to  say,  that  we  deliberately  choose 
to  be  happy.  For,  in  short,  deliberate  choice  appears 
^to  be  conversant  with  the  things  that  are  in  our  power. 
Neither,  therefore,  will  deliberate  choice  be  opinion  j 
for  opinion,  indeed,  appears  to  be  conversant  with  all 
things,  and  no  less  with  things  eternal  and  impossible, 
than  with  things  in  our  power.  Opinion,  likewise,  is  di- 
vided into  the  false  and  the  true,  and  not  into  good  and 


83 


evil ;  but  deliberate  choice  is  rather  divided  into  the 
latter  than  into  the  former.     In  short,  therefore,  perhaps 
no  one  will  say  that  deliberate  choice  is  either  the  same 
with  opinion  [in  general,]  or  with  some  particular  opi- 
mon.     For  by  deliberately  choosing  good  or  evil,  we  be- 
come  affected  with  a  certain  quality ;  but  this  does  not 
happen  to  us  through  forming  an  opinion.     And  we  de- 
liberately  choose  indeed,  to   obtain,  or  avoid,  or  to  do 
something  of  the  like  kind  ;  but  we  form  an  opinion  of 
what  it  is,  or  to  what  it  is  advantageous,  or  in  what  man- 
ner  j  and  we  do  not  very  much  opine  to  obtain  or  avoid 
It.     And  deliberate  choice  indeed  is  praised,  because  it 
pertains  to  that  of  which  it  is  necessary  to  partake  more 
abundantly,  or  with  rectitude ;  but  opinion  is  praised  for 
Its  truth.     We  likewise  deliberately  choose  those  things 
which  we  especially  know  to  be  good  ;  but  we  form  L 
opinion  of  things  which  are  not  very  much  known  to  us 
Ajid  the  same  persons  do  not  appear   to  deliberately 
choose  and  opine  the  most  excellent  things ;  but  some 
indeed  opine  that  which  is  better,  but  from  vice  choose 
those  things  which   ought   not   to  be  the   objects   of 
choice.     It  IS,  however,  of  no  consequence  whether  opi. 
mon  precedes  or  follows  deliberate  choice ;  for  our  at 

'TT  '!,  ru'  ^'"""''^  '^  '^''^  ^"^  '^  '^^  consideration 
whether  deliberate  choice  is  the  same  with  a  certain  opi. 

nion.    What  then,  or  what  kind  of  a  thing  is  deliberate 

choice  since  it  is  no  one  of  the  above-mentioned  parti- 

.-  culars  ?  It  appears,  therefore,  to  be  a  voluntary  thing.  ! 

Not  every  thing,  however,  which  is  voluntary  is  the  object  ^ 

of  deliberate  choice,  but  that  which  has  been  the  sub  ect 

of  previous  dehberation  j  for  deliberate  choice  is  accom- 

pamed  with  reason  and  the  discursive  energy  of  reason 

And  this  the  name  appears  to  signify,  the  object  of  delil  \ 


1 

I 


84 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  III. 


CHAP.  HI. 


ETHICS. 


berate  choice  being  that  which  is  eligible  in  preference 
to  other  things. 


CHAPTER    III. 


But  whether  do  men  consult  about  all  things,,  and  is 
every  thing  a  subject  of  consuhation,  or  about  certain 
things  is  there  no  consuhation  ?  Perhaps,  however,  that 
must  be  called  a  subject  of  consultation,  not  about  which 
some  stupid  or  insane  person  consults,  but  which  is  an 
object  of  consultation  to  a  man  endued  with   intellect. 
Concerning  eternal  things,  however,  no  one  consplts,  sn&h 
as  concerning  the  world,  or  the  diagonal  and  side  of  a 
square,  because  they  are  incommensurable.     Nor  does 
any  one  consult  about  things  which  are  in  motion,  but 
which   are  always   passing  into    existence    (^yivof^s^wv) 
after  the  same  manner,'  whether  from  necessity,  or  na- 
turally,  or  from  some  other  cause,  such  as  conversions 
and  risings.     Nor   does  any  one  consult  about  things 
which  subsist  differently  at  different  times,  such  as  al^ut 
drought  and  rain  ;  nor  about  fortuitous  events,  such  as 
the  discovery  of  a  treasure ;  nor  yet  about  all  h\mm 


'  Meaning  the  heavenly  bodies,  concerning  which  see  the 
n  the  Heavens. 


treatise 


^' 


85 


i? 


On  the  Heavens. 


concerns ;  for  no  Laced asmoniaii  consults  how  the  po-u 
lity  of  the  Scythians  may  be  governed  in  the  best  man- 
ner ;  since  none  of  these  things  can  be  effected  by  us. 
But  we  consult  about  things  which  can  be  performed  by 
us ;  and  these  are  the  rest  of  things  which  we  have  not 
mentioned.  For  nature,  necessity,  and  fortune,  appear  to 
be  causes ;  and  besides  these  intellect,  and  every  thing 
which  energizes  through  man.  The  individuals,  how- 
ever, of  the  human  species  consult  about  things  which 
may  be  performed  by  them.  And  indeed  in  those  sci- 
ences which  are  accurate  and  sufficient  to  themselves,  there 
is  no  consultation ;  as  for  instance,  there  is  no  consulta- 
tion about  letters ;  for  there  is  no  contention  how  we 
should  write.  But  such  things  as. are  effected  by  us,  yet 
not  always  after  the  same  manner,  about  these  we  con- 
eult ;  as  about  things  pertaining  to  medicine,  and  the  art 
of  procuring  money,  and  about  the  artj)f  th^  ji[qt.  more 
than  about  the  gymnastic  art,  because  the  former  is  much 
less  accurate  than  the  latter.  In  a  similar  manner  also,  / 
we  consult  about  the  rest  j  but  we  consult  more  in ,  the  \ 
arts  than  in  the  sciences  ^  for  we  dissent  more  about 
them.  Cojisiiltation,  however,  takes  place  in  things 
which  have  a  frequency  of  subsistence,  but  of  which  'the 
event  is  immanifest,  and  in  things  in  which  there  is  the 
indefinite.  In  things  also  which  are  of  great  importance, 
we  employ  counsellors,  distrusting  our  owrr^udgment  as 
not  sufficient.  We  consult,  however,  not  about  ends, 
but  about  things  pertaining  to  ends.  For  neither  does  a 
physician  consult  whether  he  shall  heal  the  sick,  nor  a 
rhetorician  whether  he  shall  persuade,  nor  the  politician 
whether  he  shall  establish  equitable  legislation,  nor  does 
any  one  of  the  remaining  characters  consult  about  the 
ej^  J  but  proposing  a  certain  end,  they  consider  how,- 


^^fA 


86 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  III.. 


CHAP.  lU, 


ETHICS. 


87 


and  by  what^cans  it  may  be  obtained.  If  also  it  ap- 
pears  that  this  end  is  to  be  obtained  through  many  me- 
dia, they  consider  through  which  of  them  it  may  be  ob- 
tained in  the  easiest  and  best  manner.  But  if  through 
one  medium,  they  consider  how  it  may  be  accomplish, 
ed  through  this,  and  through  what  likewise  this  may  be 
obtained,  until  they  arrive  at  the  first  cause,  which 
is  discovered  in  the  last  place.  For  he  who  consults 
appears  to  investigate  and  analyze  in  the  above-men- 
tioned  manner,  as  if  he  were  investigating  and  analyzing 
a  diagram.*  It  appears,  however,  that  not  every  inves- 
tigation is  a  consultation  ;  for  mathematical  inquiries  are 
not  consultations ;  but  every  consultation  is  an  investiga- 
tion ;  and  that  which  is  last  in  analysis  is  first  in  genera- 
tion. And  if  indeed  in  consulting,  we  meet  with  an 
impossibility,  we  desist  from  consultation ;  as  if  there 
should  be  occasion  for  money,  and  this  cannot  be  pro- 
cured. But  if  that  about  which  we  consult  appears  to 
be  possible,  then  we  endeavour  to  obtain  it.  Those 
things,  however,  are  possible  which  may  be  accomplished 
through  ourselves ;  for  things  which  are  accomplished 
through  our  friends,   are  in  a  certain  respect  effected 

'  He  who  consults,  the  end  being  proposed  which  is  not  imme- 
diately in  his  power,  investigates  the  medium  by  which  it  may  be 
obtained  ;  and  if  this  medium  also  is  not  immediately  in  his  power, 
he  explores  another,  and  afterwards  another,  till  he  discovers  the 
first  medium,  which  is  immediately  in  his  power,  and  in  the  disco- 
very of  which  the  consultation  is  terminated,  and  the  accomplish- 
ment begins,  through  which  the  end  is  generated  and  obtained. 
The  first  medium,  therefore,  which  is  the  last  in  the  analysis,  or 
investigation,  is  the  first  in  generation  or  accomplishment.  For 
that  which  is  immediately  in  our  power,  as  it  is  discovered  last,  is 
arranged  first. 


through  ourselves  ;  since  the  principle  is  in  us.     But  at 
one  time  instruments  are  explored,  and  at  another  time 
the  use  of  them,  and  in  a  similar  manner  in  other  things ; 
at  one  time,  indeed,  that  being  investigated  through  which 
[the  end  may  be  obtained,]  and   at  another  time  the 
manner.     Man,  therefore,  as  we  have  said,  appears  to 
be  the  principle  of  actions ;  but  consultation   is  about 
things  which  may  be  performed  by  man ;  and  actions 
are  for  the  sake  of  other  things.     Hence  the  end  will 
not  be  the  object  of  consultation,   but  things  which  per- 
tain to  ends.     Neither,  therefore,  will  particulars  be  the 
objects  of  consultation  ;  as,  whether  this  thing  is  bread, 
or  is  well  baked,  or  is  made  as  it  ought  to  be  ;  for  these 
things  pertain  to   sense  ;  but  if  a  man  always  consults, 
there  will  be  a  procession  to  infinity.    The  object  of  con-  \ 
sultation,  however,  and  the  pre-eligible  or  object  of  deli-  ; 
berate  choice,  are  the  same,  except  that  the  object  of  pre-  * 
election  or  deliberate  choice  is  something  which  is  now 
definite  ;  for  the  pre-eligible  is  that  ivkich  is  preferred 
from  consultation.     For  every  one  ceases  to  investigate 
how  he  shall  act,  when  he  has  reduced  the  principle  to 
himself,  and  to  that  part  of  himself  which  ranks  as  the 
leader;    since  this  part   is   that  which   he   deliberately 
chooses.     But  this  also  is  evident  from  the  ancient  poli- 
ties which  Homer  has  imitated  ;  for  the  kings   of  these 
polities  announced  to  the  people  what  they  had  delibe- 
rately chosen  to  do.     Since,  however,  that  which  is  pre- 
eligible  is  an  object  of  consultation,  appetible  of  things 
which  are  in  our  power,  pre-election  also,  ,or  deliberate 
choice,  will  be  an  appetite  oj  or  tendency  lo  things  in  our 
po^r,  accompanied  with  considtation  ;  '  for  forming  a 

*  This  definition  of  pre-election  (^rgoai^ic/j)  was  also  adopted   bv 
the  Stoics,  and  tliis  sense  of  the  word  is  of  the  utmost  importance 


^ 


B8 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  m* 


CHAP.  IV. 


ETHICS. 


89 


judgment  in  consequence  of  having  consulted,  we  desire 
conformably  to  consultation.  We  have,  therefore, 
adumbrated  what  pre-election  is,  and  what  the  things 
are  with  which  it  is  conversant,  and  have  shown  that  it 
belongs  to  things  which  have  reference  to  ends. 


CHAPTER    IV- 


That  will,  however,  pertains  to  the  end,  we  have 
•shown  ;  but  this  end  to  some  persons  appears  to  be  the 
good,  and  to  others  apparent  good.  But  it  happens  to 
those  who  say  that  the  object  of  the  will  is  the  good,  that 
what  he  wills  who  does  not  choose  rightly,  is  not  an  object 
of  will ;  for  if  it  were  an  object  of  will,  it  would  also  be 

^in  their  philosophy.  Mrs.  Carter,  however,  in  her  translation  of 
Epictetus,  which  is  as  good  as  a  person  ignorant  of  philosophy  can 
be  supposed  to  make,  uniformly  translates  this  word,  wherever  ft 
accurs,  choice,  as  if  it  was  ««g««r<$,  and  not  7rtf««<^Eo-<?.  But  choice  is 
a  very  diflferent  thing  from  pre-election,  or  deliberate  choice,  since 
•the  former  may  be  without,  but  the  latter  is  necessarily  attended 
with  deliberation.  A  certain  person  translates  this  word  prefe- 
rence; but  this  is  just  as  erroneous  a  translation  as  choice.  For  it 
is  possible  to  prefer  one  thing  to  another  without  deliberation,  as, 
for  instance,  an  Englishman  to  a  Scotchman  ;  but  such  preference 
is .  not  j)re.election.  ** 


m 


good.     It   m^y,  however,  happen  to  be  bad.     And   it 
happens  to  those  who  say  that  the  object  of  the  will  is 
apparent  good,  that  the  object   of  the  will  has  not   a 
-natural  subsistence,  but  is  what  appears  to  any  one  [to 
be  eligible].     A  different  thing,  however,  appears  to  be 
eligible  to  a  different  person ;  and  if  it  should  so  happen, 
contraries   appear  to  be   eligible.     If,   therefore,  these 
things  are  not  approved,  we  must  say  that  simply  and  in 
reality  the  good  is  indeed  the  object  of  the  will,  but  that 
apparent  good  is  the  object  of  the  will  to  every  one.    To 
the  worthy  man,  therefore,  real  good  is  the  object  of  the  \ 
will,  but  to  the  bad  man  casual  good  ;  just  as  in  bodies,   ^ 
to  such  as  are  well-disposed,  those  things  are  salubrious 
which  are  in  reality  so,  but  other  things  to  such  as  are 
diseased.     And  the  like  takes  place  in  things  that  are 
bitter,  sweet,  hot,  heavy,  and  each  of  the  rest.    For  the 
worthy  man  judges  of  every  thing   rightly,  and  in  every 
thing  the  truth  presents  itself  to  his  view.    For  according 
to  every  habit,  there  are  things  beautiful  and  delectable 
which   are  peculiar    to    that  habit.    And  perhaps    the'^* 
worthy  man  very  much  excels  others  in  this,  that  he  sees' 
the  truth  in  every  thing,  being  as  it  were  the  rule  and 
measure  of  things.    But  with  the  multitude  deception  is  \ 
present  on  account  of  pleasure ;  for  pleasure,  though    \ 
not  good,  appears  to  be  so.    The  multitude,  therefore,     ■, 
choose  the  delectable  as  good,  but  fly  from  pain  as  an 
evil. 


A 


j;<^ 


-m 


-*». 


90 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  III. 


CHAPTER    V. 


Since  the  end,  therefore,  is  the  object  of  the  will, 
but  things  pertaining  to  the  end  are  the  objects  of  con- 
sultation  and  deliberate  choice,   the  actions   which   are 
conversant  with  these,  will  be  actions  of  deliberate  choice 
and  voluntary.   But  with  these  the  energies  of  the  virtues 
are  conversant.     Virtue,  therefore,  also  is  in  our  power  ; 
and  in  a  similar  manner  vice.     For  in  those  things  in 
which  to  act  is  in  our  power,  not  to  act  is  also  in  our 
power  ;  and  in  those  things  in  which  we  have  the  power 
not  to  act,  we  have  likewise  the  power  to  act.     Hence, 
if  to  act  worthily  is  in  our  power,  not  to  act  basely  will 
likewise  be  in  our  power  ;   and  if  we  have  the  power  of 
not  acting  worthily,  we  have  also  the  power  of  acting  base- 
ly.     But  if  to  act,  and  in  a  similar  manner  not  to  act 
worthily  and  basely,  are  in  our  power,  and  this  is  to  be 
good  or  bad,  it  will  be  in  our  power  to  be  worthy  or  de- 
^  praved  characters.     And  to  say  [with  a  certain  tragic 
*poet,]  that  «^No  one  is  willingly  depraved  nor   unwil- 
Imgly  blessed,'^  seems  to  be  partly  false,  and  partly  true.* 
For  no  one  is  unwillingly  blessed,  but  depravity  is  volun- 
tary J  or  unless  this  is  admitted,  what  we  have  just  now 
asserted  must  be  controverted,  and  it  must  not  be  said 
that  man  is  the  principle  and  generator  of  actions  in  the 
same  manner  as  he  is  of  children.    But  if  these  things  are  . 
admitted,  and  we  cannot  refer  them  to  any  other  princi- 


CHAP.  V. 


ETHICS. 


91 


pies  than  those  which  are  in  our  power,  it  follows  that 
those  thmgs  are  in  our  power,  and  are  voluntary,  of  which 
also  the  principles  are  in  our  power.  The  truth  of  this 
appears  to  be  attested,  both  privately  by  individuals,  and 
publicly  by  legislators  themselves ;  for  they  castigate  and 
punish  those  who  act  depravedly,  if  they  do  not  act  from 
compulsion  or  from  ignorance  of  which  they  were  not 
the  causes.  But  they  honour  those  that  act  well,  in  order 
that  they  may  excite  these,  and  impede  those.  No  one, 
however,  exhorts  others  to  the  performance  of  such  ac- 
tions, as  are  neither  in  our  power,  nor  are  voluntary ; 
because  no  advantage  can  be  derived  from  persuading  us 
not  to  be  hot,  or  be  in  pain,  or  be  hungiy,  or  any  thing 
else  of  the  like  kind  ;  for  notwithstanding  the  persuasion 
we  shall  no  less  suffer  these  things.  For  legislators  also 
punish  a  man  for  his  ignorance,  if  he  appears  to  be  the 
cause  of  his  ignorance.  Thus  double  punishments  are 
ordained  for  those  that  are  intoxicated  ;  for  the  principle 
is  in  themselves,  because  they  have  the  power  of  not  be- 
coming intoxicated  ;  and  this  [i.  e.  intoxication]  is  the  ' 
cause  of  their  ignorance.  They  likewise  punish  those 
who  are  ignorant  of  any  thing  which  is  legally  established, 
which  ought  to  be  known,  and  which  it  is  not  difficult  to 
know.  And  in  a  similar  manner  in  other  things,  which 
men  appear  to  be  ignorant  of  from  negligence,  and  of 
which  it  is  in  their  power  not  to  be  ignorant ;  for  it  is  in 
oupower  to  pay  attention  to  what  ought  to  be  known. 

Perhaps,  however,  [it  may  be  said  that]  a  man  is  a 
person  of  such  a  character,  that  he\annot  pay  atten- 
tion; but  such  persons  are  themselves  the  causes  of 
their  charact^istic  qualities,  in  consequence  of  living 
negligently.    The  causes  likewise  of  men  being  unjust. 


92 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  III. 


or  intemperate,  are  in  themselves,  in  consequence  of  the 
former  acting  wickedly,  and  of  the  latter  spending  their 
time  in  drinking,  and  things  of  the  like  kind.     For  ener- 
gies  in  every  thing  render  those  who  employ  them  similar 
to  such  energies.     This,  however,  is  evident  from  those 
who  exercise  themselves  in  any  contest  or  action  ;  for 
they  persevere  in  energizing.      To  be  ignorant,  there- 
fore,  that  in  every  thing,  from  energizing  about  that 
thing,  habits  are  produced,  is  the  province  of  a  very  in-   ^ 
sensate  man.     Again,  it  is  absurd  to   suppose,   that   he 
who  acts  unjustly  is  unwilling  to  be  unjust,  or  that  he 
who  acts  intemperately  is  unwilling  to  be  intemperate. 
But  if  any  one  does  those  things  from  which  he  will  be 
unjust,  not  ignorantly,  he  will  be  unjust  willingly.     Ne- 
vertheless,  though  he  should  wish,  he  will  not  cease  to  be 
unjust,  and  become  just ;  for  neither  does  he  who  is  dis- 
eased become  well  [by  wishing  to  be  so,]  even  though 
it  should  happen  that  he  is  voluntarily  diseased,  by  living 
intemperately   and   disobeying   his    physicians.      Prior, 
therefore,  to  his  living  intemperately,  it  was  in  his  power 
not  to  be  diseased,  but  after  having  abandoned  himself  to 
intemperance,  it  was  no  longer  possible  ;  as  neither  isat 
possible  for  him  who  has  thrown  a  stone,  to  resume  it. 
At  the  same  time  it  was  in  his  power  to  emit  from  his 
hand  and  hurl  the  stone  ;  for  he  contained  the  principle 
of  action  in  himself.  Thus,  also,  to  the  unjust  and  intem- 
perate  man,  it  was  possible,  from  the  beginning,  not  to 
be  unjust  and  intemperate  j  on  which  account  they  are 
voluntarily  so ;  but  when  they  are  become  such  charac- 
ters, it  is  no  longer  possible  for  them  not  to  be  so. 

Not  only,  however,  the  vices  of  the  soul  are  voluntary, 
but  in  some  persons^  also,  the  vices  of  the  body,  which 


CHAP.  V. 


ETHICS, 


93 


likewise  we  reprehended ;  for  no  one  reprehends  those  who 
are  naturally  deformed  ;  but  we  blame  those  who  are  so 
through  the  want  of  exercise,  and  from  negligence.    The 
like  also  takes  place  in  imbecility,  and  mutilation.     For 
no  one  would  reproach  a  man  who  is  blind  from  nature, 
or  disease,  or  a  blow,  but  would  rather  pity  him ;  but 
every  one  would  reprove  him  who  is  blind  from  drinking 
wine  to  excess,  or  from  any  other  species   of  intempe- 
rance.    Of  the  vices,  therefore,  pertaining  to  the  body, 
those  indeed  that  are  in  our  power  are  blamed,  but  those 
which  are  not,  are  not  reprehended.     But  if  this  be  the 
case,  in  other  things,  also,  the  vices  which  are  repre- 
hended, will  be  in  our  power.     If,  however,  some   one 
should  say  that  all  men  aspire  after  apparent  good,    but 
that  we  have  no  authority  over   the  phantasy,  and  that 
such  as   every  one  is,  such  also  does  the  end  appear  to 
him  to  be ; — if,  indeed,  every  one  is  to  himself  in  a  cer- 
tain respect  the  cause  of  habit,  he  will  also  be  in  a  certain 
respect  the  cause  to  himself  of  the  phantasy  [i.  e.  of  the 
conception  which  he  forms  of  a  thing  in  his  imagination]. 
But  if  no  one  is  the  cause  to  himself  of  bad  conduct,  but 
he  acts  evilly  from  an  ignorance  of  the  end,  fancying  that 
by  so  acting,  he  shall  obtain  the  greatest  good ;  and   if 
the  desire  of  the  end  is  not  spontaneous,  but  it  is  requi- 
site that  every  one  should  be  born  endued  as  it   were 
with  sight,  by  which  he  may  judge  rightly,  and  may 
choose  real  good ;  and  if,  also,  he  is  naturally  of  a  good 
disposition  in  whom  this  is  well  implanted  by  nature ; 
for  that  which  is  greatest  and  most  beautiful,  and  which 
can  neither  be  obtained  nor  learnt  from  another  person, 
but  which  such  as  a  man  is  naturally,  such  he  possesses, 
and  to  be  naturally  inclined  to  this  well  and  beautifully, 
will  be  a  perfect  and  true  nartural  goodness  of  disposition ; 


THE    NICOMACHfiAN 


BOOK  III. 


-if  these  things  are  true,  why  will   virtue   more  than 
vice  be  voluntary  ?  For  the  end  appears,  and  is  similarly 
posited  both  to  the  good  and  the  bad  man,  either  by  na- 
ture or, n  some  other  way;  but  referring  other  things 
to  this,  they  act  in  any  manner  whatever.      Whether 
therefore,  the  end,  whatever  it  may  be,  is  not  apparent 
to  every  one  from  nature,  but  there  is  also  something 
with  him  [who  acts,]  or  whether  the  end  is  natural,  yet 
because  a  worthy  man  performs  other  things  voluntarily 
and  therefore  virtue  is  voluntary,  vice  also  will  be  no  less' 
voluntary.     For  in  a  bad  as  well  as  in  a  good  man,  there 
IS  similarly  a  power  of  acting  from  himself  in  what  he 
does,   though  the  intention  of  the  end  is  not  in  our 
power.     If,  therefore,  as  we  have  said,  the  virtues  are 
voluntary ;   for  we  ourselves  in  a  certain  respect  are  the 
concauses  of  habits,  and  in  consequence  of  being 'dis- 
posed  ma  certain  way,  we  propose  to  ourselves  a  certain 
end;— if  this  be  the  case,  the  vices  also  will  be  volun- 
tary, for  a  similar  reason.     We  have,  therefore,  spoken 
m  common  concerning  the  virtues,  have  adumbrated  the 
genus  of  them,  and  have  shown  that  they  are  media  and 
habits ;  we  have  likewise  unfolded  what  the  things  are 
from  which  they  are  produced,  and  have  shown  that 
they  are  caused  by  energies,  and  are  the   principles  of 
energies,  similar  to  those  by  which  they  are  generated^ 
that  they  are  likewise  in  our  power,  and  are  voluntary 
things,  and  this  in  such  a  way  as  right  reason  shall  or- 
dain.    Actions,  however,  and  habits  are  not  similarly 
volun»ry ;  for  of  actions  we  are  the  lords  from  the  be- 
ginning to  the  end,  since  we  have  a  knowledge  of  parti- 
culars ;  but  of  habits,  we  are  only  lords  of  the  prindple. 
ihe  accession,  however,  of  particulars  is  not  known  as  it 
IS  m  diseases ;  but  because  it  is  in  our  power  thus  to  use. 


CHAP.  VI. 


ETHICS. 


or  not  to  use  particulars  ;  on  this  account  our  habits  are 
voluntary.  Resuming,  therefore,  the  discussion  of  each 
of  the  virtues,  let  us  show  what  they  are,  what  the  qua- 
lity  of  the  things  is  with  which  they  are  conversant,  and 
how  they  subsist ;  but  at  the  same  time  it  will  be  mani- 
fest  how  many  there  are.  And  in  the  first  place  let  us 
consider  fortitude. 


/      CHAPTER  VI.    ^ 


That  fortitude,  therefore,  is  indeed  a  medium  which 
is  conversant  with  fear  and  audacity,  has  been  already  ob- 
served by  us.  But  we  evidently  fear  things  of  a  terrible 
nature ;  and  these  are,  in  short,  evils.  Hence,  also,  fear 
is  defined  to  be  the  expectation  of  evil.  We  fear,  there- 
fore, all  things  that  are  evil ;  such  as  infamy,  poverty, 
disease,  the  want  of  friends,  and  death.  The  brave  man,' 
^bwever,  does  not  appear  to  be  conversant  with  all  evils  • 
for  it  is  necessary  and  beautiful  to  be  afraid  of  some 
things,  and  not  to  be  afraid  of  them  is  base ;  as  for  in- 
stance, not  to  be  afraid  of  infamy.  For  he  who  is  afraid 
of  this,  is  a  worthy  and  modest  man ;  but  he  who  is  not 
afraid  of  it  is  impudent.  He  is,  however,  metaphorically 
called  by  some  a  brave  man,  for  he  has  something  similar 
to  the  brave  man,  since  the  brave  man  also  is  fearless. 
But  perhaps  it  is  not  proper  to  fear  poverty  or  disease,  or, 


96 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  Ilfc 


in  short,  such  things  as  neither  proceed  from  vice,  nor 
from  ourselves  ;  yet  neither  is  he  who  is  fearless  with 
respect  to   these  a  brave   man.     We  denominate  him, 
however,  brave  from  similitude ;  for  some  men,  who  in 
the  dangers  of  war  are  timid,  are  liberal,  and  possess  a  pro- 
per confidence  in  the  loss  of  money.    Neither,  therefore, 
is  he   timid  who  dreads  insolent  conduct  towards  his 
children  and  wife,  or  envy,  or  any  thing  of  the  like  kind ; 
nor  is  he  a  brave  man  if  he  is  confident  when  he  is 
about  to  be  whipt.     With  what  kind  of  dreadful  things, 
therefore,   is  the  brave  man  conversant  ?     Shall  we  say 
with  such  as  are  the  greatest?     For   no   one  endures 
dreadful  things  better.     But  death  is  the  most  dreadful 
of  things ;  for  it  is  the  end  [of  life] ;  and  nothing  far- 
ther appears  to  remain  for  him  who  is  dead,  either  good 
or  bad."     But  neither  does  the  brave  man  appear  to  be 
conversant  with  every  kind  of  death  ;    as,  for  instance, 
death  in  the  sea,  or  from  disease.     With  what  kinds  of 
death,  therefore,  is  he  conversant  ?  Shall  we  not  say,  with 
those  that  are  most  beautiful  ?    But  these  are  the  deaths 
which  happen  in  war ;  for  such  a  death  is  attended  with 
the  greatest  and  most  beautiful  danger.     And  the  truth 
of  this  is  confirmed  by  the  honours  which  cities  and  mo- 
narchs  confer  on  those  who  conduct  themselves  bravely 
m  war.     He,  therefore,  may  properly  be  called  a  bra| 
man  who  is  intrepid  with  respect  to  a  beautiful  deat^ 
and  such  things  as  are  the  causes  of  death  when  they  are 
near.     But  things  of  this  kind  are  especially  such  as 
happen  in  war.     Nevertheless  in  the  sea,  and  in  distoses, 
the  brave  man  is  intrepid  j  yet  not  in  the  same  manner 

■  Aristotle  says  this,  not  from  his  own  opinion,  but  from  the  opi. 
nion  of  the  vulgar. 


CHAP,  vir. 


ETHICS. 


97 


as  sailors  are ;  for  brave  men,  when  they  despair  of  their 
safety,  indignantly  bear  a  death  of  this  kind ;  but  sailors 
have  good  hope  of  escaping,  from  their  experience.  At 
the  same  time  brave  men  act  with  fortitude  in  those  things 
m  which  strength  of  mind  is  requisite,  or  it  is  beautiful 
to  die ;  but  neither  of  these  exists  in  such-like  destruc- 
tions as  we  have  mentioned. 


CHAPTER  vri. 


The  same  thing,  however,  is  not  terrible  to  all  men  • 
but  we  say  that  there  is  also  something  which  is  above 
man  ; '  this,  therefore,  is  indeed  terrible  to  every  one  en- 
dued  with  intellect.     But  the  terrible  things  tvhich  do 
not  exceed  the  endurance  of  human   nature,  differ  in 
magnitude,  and  in  the  more  and  th&  less.     And  the  like 
takes  place  in  things   pertaining   to   confidence.     The 
brave  man,  however,  is  unterrified,  as  a  man.     He  will 
therefore,  indeed,  dread  things  of  this  kind,  yet  in  such  a 
manner  as  is  proper,  and  as  reason  prescribes,  for  the 
sake  of  the  beautiful  in  conduct ;  for  this  is  the  end  of 
virtue.     But  it  is  possible  to  be  terrified  at  these  in  a 
greater  and  less  degree,  and  it  is  also  possible  to  dread 
things  which  are  not  dreadful,  as  if  they  were  so.     Of 
the  errors,  however,  in  the  endurance  of  things  terrible, 

■  Such  as  violent  thunder,  earthquakes,  and  inundations  of  the  sea! 

■^rtst.  VOL.  II.  Q 


\  : 


98 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  III. 


one  consists  in  dreading  what  it  is  not  proper  to  dread, 
another,  in  dreading  not  as  is  proper,  but  another,  in  not 
dreading  when  it  is  proper,  or  something  of  this  kind. 
-And  in  a  similar  manner  in  what  pertains  to  confidence. 
'He,  therefore,  who  endures  and  fears  things  which  it  is 
requisite  to  endure  and  fear,  and  for  the  sake  of  that  for 
which  it  is  requisite,  and  in  such  a  way  as  and  when  it  is 
requisite,  and  in  a  similar  manner  he  who  thus  confides, 
is  a  brave  man ;  for  the  brave  man  suffers  and  acts  ac- 
cording  to  the  importance  of  the  thing,  and  conformably 
to  reason.  But  the  end  of  every  energy  is  the  end  ac- 
cording  to  habit,  [i.  e.  the  beautiful  in  conduct ;]  and  to 
the  brave  man  fortitude  is  beautiful.  The  end,  also,  is 
a  thing  of  this  kind  ;  for  every  thing  is  defined  by  the 
end.  For  the  sake  of  the  beautiful  in  conduct,  there- 
fore,  the  brave  man  endures  and  performs  all  that  per- 
tains to  fortitude.  Of  the  characters,  however,  which 
exceed,  he  indeed  who  exceeds  in  fearlessness,  is  ano- 
nymous ;  but  it  has  been  before  observed  by  us,  that 
many  things  are  anonymous.  He,  however,  who  fears 
nothing,  neither  earthquakes,  nor  inundations,  as  it  is  said 
of  the  Celta;,  will  be  an  insane  person,  or  one  who  has 
no  sense  of  pain ;  but  he  who  exceeds  in  confidence  re- 
specting things  of  a  terrible  nature,  will  be  audacious, 
'^^he  audacious  man  also  appears  to  be  arrogant,  and  a 
pretender  to  fortitude.  Such,  therefore,  as  the  brave 
man  is  with  respect  to  things  of  a  terrible  nature,  such 
does  the  audacious  man  wish  to  appear ;  and  hence,  in 
those  things  in  which  he  is  able,  he  imitates  him.  On 
this  account,  also,  many  audacious  persons  have  timidity 
united  with  audacity  ;  for  in  consequence  of  their  auda- 
city  when  danger  is  not  imminent,  they  do  not  endure 
thmgs  of  a  dreadful  nature  [when  they  occur].     But  he 


CHAP.  VII. 


ETHICS. 


99 


who  exceeds  in  fearing  is  timid ;  for  he  fears  what   he 
ought  not,  and  in  such  a  manner  as  he  ought  not  to  fear, 
and   all    such  things   are  consequent  to  him  ;  but  he  is 
deficient  in  confiding.  As  he  exceeds,  however,  in  pains, 
he  IS  more  apparent.    The  timid  man,  therefore,  is  hope- 
less ;  for  he  fears  all  things.     But  the  brave  man  is  the 
contrary ;  for  confidence  is  the  province  of  the  man  who 
hopes  for  the  best.     The  timid,  the  audacious,  and  the 
brave  man,  therefore,  are  conversant  with  the  same  things- 
but  they  are  differently  affected  towards  them.     For  the 
timid  and  the  audacious  man  exceed  and  are  deficient  • 
but  the  brave  man  is  disposed  towards  things  dreadful  in 
the  middle  way,  and  in  such  a  manner  as  is  proper.  And 
audacious  men,  indeed,  are  precipitate,  and  wish  to  en- 
counter  dangers  before  they  arrive ;    but  when  they  ar- 
nve  they  are  deficient  in   fortitude.     Brave   men,  how- 
;ever,   are  ardent  in  encountering  danger,  but  befbre  it 
arrives  they  are  quiet.     As  we  have  said,  therefore,  for- 
htude  IS  a  medium  conversant  with  those  things  of  a 
dreadful  nature,  and  such  as  pertain  to  confidence,  which 
we  have  mentioned  ;   and  it  chooses  and  endures  them, 
because  it  is  beautiful  to  do  so,  or  not  to  do  so  is  base. 
But  to  die,  m  order  to  avoid  poverty,   or  on  account  of 
love,  or  something  painful,  is  not  the  province  of  a  brave, 
but  rather  of  a  timid  man.     For  it  is  efibminate  to  fly 
from  things  laborious ;    and  such  do  not  endure  death 
because  it  is  beautiful  to  endure  it,  but  in  order  to  fly 
from  evil.     Fortitude,  therefore,  is  a  certain  thing  of 
this  kind. 


100 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  In. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

Other  kinds  of  fortitude,  also,  are  denominated 
according  to  four  modes;  and  in  the  first  place,  indeed; 
political  fortitude,  since  this  most  resembles  fortitude  truly 
so  called.  For  citizens  appear  to  endure  dangers,  on 
account  of  the  punishments  and  disgrace  inflicted  by  the 
laws,  and  also  on  account  of  the  honours  they  confer. 
Hence,  the  most  brave  men  appear  to  be  found  among 
those  with  whom  the  timid  are  disgraced,  and  the  brave 
are  honoured.  Homer,  likewise,  introduces  such  persons, 
^,  for  instance,  Diomed  and  Hector  i 

Shall  proud  Polydamas  before  the  gate 
Proclaim,  his  counsels  are  obeyM  too  late, 
Which  timely  followed  but  the  former  night, 
'What  numbers  had  been  saved  by  Hector's  flight  ?  * 

And  Diomed^ 


But  ah  !  what  grief  should  haughty  Hector  boast ; 
I  fled  inglorious  to  the  giiarded  coast  I  * 

This  species  of  fortitude,  however,  is  especially  similar 
to  the  before-mentioned,  because  it  is  produced  from 

'  Iliad,  Book  22. 
•  Iliad,  Book  8. 


CHAP,  vin. 


ETHICS. 


im 


virtue ;  for  it  is  generated  through  shame  and  a  desire 
of  the  beautiful  in  conduct,  for  it  is  through  a  desire  of 
honour  and  a  flight  from  disgrace,  which  is  dishonourable. 
Those  also  may  be  ranked  among  brave  men,  who  are 
compelled  to  be  brave  by  their  rulers ;  but  they  are  in- 
ferior to  the  former  [i.  e.  the  politically  brave,]  because 
their  conduct  is  not  produced  through  shame,  but  through 
fear,  and  is  not  the  consequence  of  flying  from  what  is 
base,  but  from  what  is  painful ;  for  they  are  compelled 
by  their  masters.     Thus  Hector — 


On  rushed  bold  Hector,  gloomy  as  the  night ; 
Forbids  to  plunder,  animates  the  fight ; 
Points  to  the  fleet ;  for  by  the  gods,  who  flies, 
Who  dares  but  linger,  by  this  hand  he  dies  y 
No  weeping  sister  his  cold  eye  shall  close. 
No  friendly  hand  his  funeral  pile  compose. 
Who  stops  to  plunder  at  this  signal  hour. 
The  birds  shall. tear  him,  and  the  dogs  devour.  * 

And  the  generals  scourge  the  soldiers  if  they  desert  their 
ranks.  The  same  thing  also  is  done  by  those  who  dis- 
pose their  troops  before  fosses,  and  adopt  other  methods 
of  the  like  kind ;  for  all  these  employ  force.  It  is  neces- 
sary, however,  not  to  be  brave  from  necessity,  but  because 
it  is  beautiful  to  be  so.  But  experience  about  particulars 
appears  to  be  a  certain  fortitude  ;  whence  also  Socrates 

'  In  the  2nd  book  of  the  Iliad,  v.  391,  Agamemnon,  and  not 
Hector,  thus  addresses  the  Greeks ;  but  in  the  l&tli  book  of  the 
Iliad,  V.  348,  Hector  addresses  the  Trojans  in  other  words,  but  to  the 
same  effect.  The  conjecture,  therefore,  of  Sylburgius  is  probable, 
that  the  transcribers  of  Aristotle,  as  the  beginning  only  of  this 
passage  of  Homer  was  cited  by  the  philosopher,  took  from  the  ^nd 
book  of  the  Iliad,  what  ought  to  have  been  taken  from  the  ].5th. 


102 


THE     NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IIU 


thought  that  fortitude  was  a  science.  *    And  indeed,  there 
are  other  such  persons  in  other  things  ;  but  soldiers  are 
such  in   warlike  affairs.     For   it  seems  that  there  are 
many  vain  terrors  in  war/  of  which  soldiers  are  espe- 
cially aware.     Soldiers,  therefore,  appear  to  be  brave, 
because  other  persons  do  not  understand  the  nature  of 
these  alarms.     In  the  next  place,  they  are  especially  able, 
from  their  experience,  to  attack  their  enemies  without  re- 
ceiving any  injury  themselves.     They  also  know  how  to 
guard  against,  and  strike  their  enemies,  in  consequence 
of  being  able  to  use  their  arms,  and  having  armour  of 
such  a  kind,  as  is  most  excellent  for  the  purpose  of 
attacking,   without  being  injured  by   their  adversaries. 
They  fight,  therefore,  like  armed  with  unarmed  men,^ 
and  like  athletcc  with  those  that  are  unskilled  in  athletic 
exercises.     For  in  such-like  contests,  not  the  most  brave 
are  the  most  adapted  to  fight,  but  those  who  are  most 
strong,  and  whose  bodies  are  in  the  most  excellent  con- 
dition.    But  soldiers  become  timid  when  the  danger  is 
excessive,  and  they  are  deficient  in  numbers  and  warlike 
apparatus.     For  [the  merely  skilful  are]  the  first  that 
fly;  but  those  who  act  bravely,  according  to  political 
circumstances,  die  remaining  at  their  post,  as  it  happened 
at  the  Hermaeus;  since  to  citizens  flight  is  base,  and 
death  is  more  eligible  than  such  a  preservation.     But  the 
soldiers  [in  this  battle  at  Hermaeus]  encountered   the 
danger  at  first,  as  thinking  themselves  superior  to  their 
enemies;   but   when   they  saw   the  full  extent   of  the 


*  See  the  Laches  and  Protagoras  of  Plato. 

~  Such  as  in  ancient  battles,  the  crash  of  arftis,  the  concourse  of 
horses,  &c. 

-*  This  must  be  understood  as  applicable  only  to  skilful  soldiers. 


CHAP.  VIII. 


ETHICS. 


103 


danger,  they  fled,  dreading  death  more  than  disgrace. 
The  brave  man,  however,  is  not  a  person  of  this  descrip- 
tion. Anger,  also,  is  referred  to  fortitude;  for  men 
likewise  appear  to  be  brave  on  account  of  anger,  just  as 
wild  beasts  rush  on  those  that  wound  them ;  because 
brave  men  also  are  irascible.     Whence  Homer  says, 


And, 

And, 
And, 


Strength  be  to  anger  added, 
his  ardour  and  his  wrath  he  rous'd; 
Pungent  fury  from  his  nostrils  flowed. 
his  blood  boiPd. 


For  every  thing  of  this  kind  appears  to  signify  the  energy 
and  impulse  of  anger.  Brave  men,  therefore,  act  on 
account  of  the  beautiful  in  conduct;  but  anger  co- 
operates with  them.  And  savage  animals  act  through 
the  influence  of  pain;  for  they  act  because  they  are 
wounded  or  terrified ;  since  if  they  are  in  a  wood,  or  in 
a  marsh,  they  do  not  attack  any  one.  Hence  those  per- 
sons are  not  brave  who  are  impelled  to  danger  by  pain 
and  anger,  foreseeing-  nothing  that  is  dreadful ;  since 
thus  asses  also  would  be  brave  when  they  are  hungry ;. 
for  they  cannot,  even  by  blows,  be  driven  from  their 
pasture.     Adulterers,  likewise,  perform  many  audacious 

,  deeds  through  their  lustful  desire.  Those,  therefore, 
are  not  brave,  who  are  impelled  to  danger  through  pain 
or  anger.     The  fortitude,  however,  appears  to  be  most 

<:  natural,  which  subsists  on  account  of  anger,  and  which 
assumes  deliberate  choice,  and  that  for  the  sake  of  which 
a  thing  is  done,  [or  the  final  cause].  Men,  also,  when 
they  are  angry,  are  pained,  but  are  delighted  when  they 
take  vengeance  on  the  authors  of  their  anger.  Those, 
however,  who  act  under  the  influence  of  these  causes^ 


104 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


B0OK  III. 


CHAP.  IX. 


ETHICS. 


are  indeed  pugnacious,  but  not  brave  ;  for  they  do  not 
act  with  a  view  to  the  beautiful  in  conduct,  nor  from  the 
dictates  of  reason,  but  from  the  influence  of  passion. 
But  they  possess  something  similar  to  fortitude.     Nor 
yet  are  those  who  are  full  of  good  hope  brave :  for  in 
consequence  of  having  frequently  conquered,  and  con- 
quered many,  they  are  confident  in  dangers.     But  they 
are  similar  to  brave  men,  because  both  these  characters 
are  confident.     Brave  men,  however,  are  indeed  con- 
fident, for  the  reasons  we  have  already  assigned  ;  but 
these,  because  they  fancy  they  are  superior  to  others,  and 
that  they  shall  suffer  no  evil  from  their  opponents.    Those 
also  that  are  intoxicated  act  after  this  manner :  for  they 
become  full  of  good  hope  ;  but  when  they  are  frustrated 
of  their  expectations,  they  fly  from  danger.     It  is,  how- 
ever, the  province  of  a  brave  man  to  endure  things  which 
are,  and  appear  to  be  dreadful  to  man,  because  it  is 
beautiful  to  do  so,  and  base  not  to  endure  them.     Hence 
also  it  appears  to  be  the  part  of  a  more  brave  man,  to 
be  fearless  and  without  perturbation  in  sudden  terrors, 
rather  than  in  such  as  were  foreseen.     For  this  rather 
proceeds  from  habit,  and  in  a  less  degree  from  prepara-  - 
tion.     For  things,  indeed,  which  were  foreseen,  may  be 
chosen  from  deliberation  and  reason;  but  in  things  which 
suddenly  happen,  a  man  can  only  conduct  himself  fear- 
lessly from  the  habit  of  fortitude.     Those  persons,  like- 
wise, appear  to  be  brave,  who  are  ignorant  of  danger ; 
and  they  are  not  very  remote  from  those  who  are  full  of 
good  hope.     They  are,  however,  inferior  to  them,  be- 
cause they  have  no  preconceived  opinion  of  vanquishing 
the  evil ;  but  the  former  have.     Hence,  the  fortitude  of 
those  who  are  full  of  good  hope  continues  for  a  certain 
time ;  but  the  fortitude  of  those  who  are  ignorant  of 


105 


danger  ceases  as  soon  as  the  deception  is  apparent ;  as 
was  the  case  with  the  Argives,  when  they  met  with  the 
Lacedemonians,  and  thought  them  to  be  the  Sicyonians. 
And  thus  we  have  shown  what  kind  of  men  the  brave 
are,  and  those  who  appear  to  be  brave. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Since,  however,  fortitude  is  conversant  with  confi- 
dence and  fear,  yet  it  is  not  similarly  conversant  with 
both,  but  m  a  greater  degree  with  things  of  a  terrible 
nature.     For  he  who  is  without  perturbation  in  these 
and  who  conducts  himself  in  them  as  he  ought,  is  more 
brave  than  he  who  does  so  in  things  pertaining  to  confi- 
dence.    Brave  men,  therefore,  as  we  have  before  ob- 
served,    are  called   brave,   from    enduring  things  of  a 
painful  nature.     Hence  also  fortitude  is  unaccompanied 
with  pain,  and  is  justly  praised;  for  it  is  more  difficult  to 
endure  pain,  than  to  abstain  from  pleasure.    Nevertheless 
the  end,  according  to  fortitude,  may  appear  to  be  pleasant, 
but  to  be  obscured  and  obliterated  by  surrounding  cir- 
cumstances;  just  as  it  happens  in  gymnastic  contests. 
For  to  pugilists,  indeed,  the  end  for  the  sake  of  which 
they  contend  is  pleasing,  viz.  a  crown  and  honours ;  but 
to  be  beat,  since  this  pertains  to  the  flesh,  is  painful,  as  is 


/ 


106 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  nr,^ 


CHAP.  X, 


ETHICS. 


107 


likewise  every  labour.  Because,  however,  the  circum-^ 
stances  which  produce  pain  are  many,  and  that  for  the 
sake  of  which  they  contend  is  small,  it  appears  to  possess- 
nothing  delectable.  If,  therefore,  a  thing  of  this  kind^ 
also  pertains  to  fortitude,  death  indeed  and  wounds  will' 
be  painful  to  a  brave  man,  and  ^o  one  who  is  unwilling 
to  endure  them.  The  brave  man,  however,  endures 
them  because  it  is  beautiful  so  to  do,  or  because  it  is  base 
not  to  endure  them.  And  by  how  much  the  more  he 
possesses  every  virtue,  and  is  more  happy,  by  so  much 
the  more  will  he  be  pained  by  death. '  For  such  a  man 
most  eminently  deserves  to  live,  and  he  is  knowingly  de- 
prived [by  death]  of  the  greatest  goods ;  but  this  is 
painful.  He  is,  however,  no  less  brave ;  and  perhaps  he 
is  more  brave,  because  he  chooses  that  conduct  in  battle 
which  is  beautiful,  in  preference  to  these  goods.  To 
energize,  therefore,  delectably,  does  not  pertaipi  to  all  the 
virtues,  except  so  far  as  they  come  into  contact  with  the 
end.  But  perhaps  nothing  prevents  not  only  those  from^ 
being  lAost  excellent  soldiers,  who  are  most  brave ;  but 
also  those  who  are  less  brave,  and  possess  no  other  good ;. 
for  these  are  prepared  for  danger,  and  to  lose  their  life, 
for  a  small  gain.  And  thus  much  concerning  fortitude*. 
And  it  is  not  difficult  from  what  has  been  said  to  adum^ 
brate  what  it  is. 

It  must  be  carefully  observed  by  the  reader,  that  what  is  here 
said  of  the  brave  man  being  afflicted  at  death,  applies  only  to  the 
man  who  is  brave  according  to  politic  fortitude,  but  not  to  him 
who  possesses  the  fortitude  which  belongs  to  the  cathartic  and  theo- 
retic virtues ;  for  an  account  of  which  virtues,  see  the  notes  on  the 
10th  book. 


CHAPTER   X. 

In  the  next  place,  let  us  speak  concerning  temperance  • 
for  these  [i.  e.  fortitude  and  temperance]  appear  to  be 
the  virtues  of  the  irrational   parts.     That  temperance,! 
therefore,  is  a  medium  conversant  with  pleasures,  has 
been  already  observed  by  us ;  for  it  is   conversant  in  a 
less  degree,  and  not  similarly  \vdth  pains;    but   about 
pleasures  and    pains    intemperance    also  is   employed. 
What  the  pleasures,  therefore,  are,  with  which  temper- 
ance is  conversant,  we  must  now  explain.     Let  pleasures, 
however,  be  divided  into  those  pertaining  to  the  soul,  and 
those  pertaining  to  the  body.     Thus,  for  instance,  the  \ 
pleasures  pertaining  to  the  soul  are,  ambition,  and  the  love  ' 
of  learning;  for  each   of  these  is  delighted  with  that 
which  is  the  object  of  its  desire,  the  body  not  being  at  all 
affected,  but  rather  the  rational  part ;  and  those  who  are 
conversant  with  such-like  pleasures,  are  neither  denomi- 
nated temperate,  nor  intemperate.  Thus  too,  with  respect 
to  such  other  pleasures  as  are  not  corporeal ;  for  we  call 
those  who  are  lovers  of  fables  and  narrations,  and  who 
consume  the  day  in  such  casu¥l  circumstances  as  present 
themselves,   triflers,  but  not  intemperate.     Nor  do   we  \ 
call  those  intemperate  who  are  pained  by  the   loss  of 
riches  or  friends.     Temperance,  however,  will  be  con- 
versant with  corporeal  pleasures,  yet  neither  will  it  be 
conversant  with  all  such  pleasures.     For  those  persons 


1 1  i 


108 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  III. 


\ 


are  not  called  either  temperate  or  intemperate  who  are 
delighted  with  objects   of  sight,  such  as   colours,   and 
figures,  and  pictures ;  though  it  would  seem  that  there 
is  also  a  proper  manner  of  being  delighted  with  these, 
and  that  it  is  possible  to  be  pleased  with  them  according 
to  excess  and  defect.      Thus  too  in  things  pertaining  to 
the  hearing ;  for  no  one  calls  those  persons  intemperate, 
who  are  excessively  delighted  with  melodies,  or  players ; 
nor  those  temperate,  who  are  delighted  with  them  in  a 
proper  manner.     Nor  are  those  denominated  temperate 
or  intemperate,  who  are  delighted  with  odours,  except 
from  accident.     For  we  do  not  call  those  persons  intem- 
perate, who  are  delighted  with  the  smell  of  apples,  or 
roses,  or  odoriferous  fumigations  ;  but  we  rather  deno- 
minate  those  persons   so,  who  are   delighted  with  the 
smell  of  ointments  and  food ;  for  intemperate  persons  are 
pleased  with  these,  because  through  these  the  recollection 
of  the  objects  of  their  desires  is  produced-     Others  also 
may  be  seen,  who  when  they  are  hungry  are  delighted 
with  the  smell  of  food ;  but  to  be  delighted  with  things 
of  this  kind  is  the  province  of  an  intemperate  man ;  for 
to  such  a  one  these  things  are  objects  of  desire.     Nor  do 
other  animals  receive  pleasure  from  these  senses,  except 
by  accident.     For  neither  are  dogs  delighted  with  the 
smell,  but  with  the  eating,  of  hares ;  the  smell  producing 
the  sense  [i.  e.  causing  them  to  perceive  food  present;] 
nor  is  the  lion  delighted  with  the  voice  of  the  ox,  but 
with  eating  him  ;  but  he  perceives  through  the  voice  of 
the  ox  that  he  is  near,  and  is  seen  to  be  delighted  with 
this  perception.     In  like  manner,   neither   is  the  lion 
delighted  with  seeing  or  finding  a  stag,  or  a  wild  goat ; 
but  he  is  pleased  on  seemg  that  from  which  he  shall  oh- 
tarn  food.    Temperance  and  intemperance,   therefore. 


CHAP,  X, 


ETHICS. 


109 


are  conversant  with  pleasures  of  this  kind,  of  which  also 
irrational  animals  partake.     Hence  these  pleasures  appear 
to  be  servile  and  savage  ;  and  they  are  the  pleasures  per- 
taining to  the  touch  anS  the  taste.     Temperance  and 
intemperance,  hov/ever,  appear  to  use  the  taste,  but  in  a 
small  degree,  or  not  at  all ;  for  the  judgment  of  sapors 
is  the  province  of  the  taste  ;  which  those  persons  employ 
who  make  trial  of  wines  and  season  food.     The  intem- 
perate, however,  are  not  very  much  delighted  with  these 
sapors,  but  with  the  enjoyment  of  the  food  ;  the  whole 
of  which  is  effected  through  the  touch,  in  meats  and 
drinks,  and  in  what  are  called  venereal  concerns.  Hence, 
a  certain  person  named  Philoxenus,  the  son  of  Eryx,  who 
was  most  voracious  in  eating,  wished  that  he  had  a  neck 
longer   than  that  of  a  crane,  as  being   one  who  was 
delighted  with  the  touch.     The  touch,  therefore,  with 
which  intemperance  is  conversant  is  the  most  common  of 
all  the  senses ;  and  will  appear  to  be  justly  disgraceful, 
because  it  exists  in  us  not  so  far  as  we  are  men,  but  so  far  , 
as  we  are  animals.     To  be  delighted,  therefore,  with,  and 
especially  enamoured  of  such  pleasures,  is  beastly ;  for 
the  most  liberal  of  the  pleasures  which  are  perceived 
through  the  touch,  are  not  to  be  numerated  with  these ; 
such  for  instance  as  the  pleasu^^es  in  gymnastic  exercises, 
produced  through  friction  and  heat;  since  the  touch 
of  the  intemperate  man  does  not  pertain  to  the  whole 
body,  but  to  certain  parts  of  it. 


no 


THE  NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  III, 


CHAPTER  XI. 


Of  desires,  however,  some  appear  to  be  common,  but 
.  others  peculiar  and  adventitious.    Thus,  for  instance,  the 
desire  of  food  is  indeed  natural ;  for  every  one,  when  in 
want,  desires  either  dry  or  moist  nutriment ;  and  some- 
times  both.     And,    as  Homer '  says,   both  the  young 
man,  and  he  who  is  in  the  vigour  of  his  age,  desire  the 
joys  of  love ;  but  every  one  does  not  desire  this  or  that 
food,  nor  the  same  food.     Hence,  this  desire  appears  to 
be  properly  ours  ;  and  it  possesses  also  something  natu- 
ral ;  for  different  things  are  pleasing  to  different  persons, 
and  the  same  thing  is  more  agreeable  to  some  persons 
than  to  others.     Few,  therefore,  err  in  natural  desires ; 
and  they  err  in  these  in  one  way,  viz.  in  excess ;  for  to 
eat  or  drink  what  casually  presents  itself,  till  an  excessive 
fulness  is  produced,  is  to   surpass,  in  multitude,  what  is 
conformable  to  nature ;  since  natural  desire  is  the  reple- 
nishing of  indigence.     Hence,  such  persons  are  called 

'  Aristotle  alludes  to  Iliad,  24,  v.  129,  in  which  Thetis  complains 
to  Achilles  that  he  is— 

Mindless  of  food  and  love,  whose  pleasing  reign 
Sooths  weary  life,  and  softens  human  pain.  Pope. 

But^the  words,  «  the  young  man,  and  he  ivho  is  in  the  vigour  of  his 
age,"  are  added  by  Aristotle,  as  Victorinus  observes,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  elucidating  the  meaning  of  the  poet. 


CHAP.  XI. 


ETHICS. 


Ill 


gluttons,  as  replenishing  the  indigence  [of  nature]  beyond 
what  IS  becoming  ;  and  those  who  are  very  servile  be- 
come  men  of  this  description.     But  in  those  pleasures 
which  are  peculiar,  or  proper,  many  persons  err,  and 
m^  many   ways  ;    for   they  are   denominated   lovers  of 
things  of  this  kind,  either  from   being  delighted  with 
things  which  are  not  proper,  or  being  pleased  with  them 
more  than  is  proper,  as  is  the  case  with  the  multitude,  or 
not  in  such  a  way  as  is  proper,or  not  in  that  respect  in  which 
it  IS  proper.     The  intemperate,  however,  exceed  in  all 
things;  for  they  are  delighted  with  some  things  with  which 
it  is  not  proper  to  be  delighted,  since  they  are  odious;  and 
if  it  is  requisite  to  be  delighted  with  some  of  such  things, 
they  are  delighted  with  them  more  than  is  proper,  and 
after  the  manner  of  the  multitude.     That  excess,  there- 
fore,  in  pleasures  is  intemperance,  and  that  it  is  blame- 
able,  is  evident.     In  pains,  however,  a  man  is  not  said  to 
be  temperate  by  enduring  them,  as  in  fortitude ;  nor  in- 
temperate  by  not  enduring  them ;  but  he  indeed  is  intem- 
perate,  who  is  pained  more  than  is  requisite,  because  he 
does  not  partake  of  pleasures ;  so  that  the  pleasure  gives 
him  pain  [in  consequence  of  being  desired  by  him  above 
measure.]     And  he  is  said  to  be  a  temperate  man,  who 
is  not  pained  by  the  absence  of  pleasure,  and  by  abstain- 
ing  from  it.     The  intemperate  man,  therefore,  desires 
all  pleasant  things,  or  those  which  are  most  eminently 
pleasant ;    and  is  led  by  desire,  so  as  to   choose  what 
IS  most  pleasant  in  preference  to  other  things.      Hence, 
also,  he  is  pained,  both  when  he  is  frustrated  of  pleasure,' 
and  when  he  desires  it ;  for  desire  is  accompanied  with 
pain  ;^  though  it  seems  to  be  absurd  that  a  man  should 
be  pained  on  account  of  pleasure.    Those,  however,  who 
are  deficient  in  pleasures,  and  are  delighted  with  them 


112 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  III. 


less  than  is  proper,  are  not  very  frequent.     For  an  insen- 
sibility  of  this  kind  is  not  human ;  since  other  animals 
also  distinguish  food,  and  are  delighted  with  some  kinds 
of  It,  and  not  with  others.     But  he  to  whom  nothing  is 
delectable,   and  with  whom  one  thing  does  not  differ 
from  another,  is  very  remote  from  human  nature ;  such 
a  one  also  is  without  a  name,  because  he  does  not  very 
frequently   exist.     The  temperate  man,  however,  with 
respect  to  these  things,  subsists  in  a  middle  condition ; 
for  neither  is  he  delighted  with  those  things  with  which 
the  intemperate  man  is  especially  delighted,  but  he  is 
rather  indignant  with  them;  nor,   in  short,   does  he 
rejoice  in  things  in  which  he  ought  not,  nor  is  he  very 
much  delighted  with  any  thing  of  this  kind ;  nor  is  he 
pained  if  it  is  absent ;  nor  does  he  desire  it,  except  mo- 
derately, nor  more  than  is  proper,  nor  at  a  time  when  he 
ought  not,  nor,  in  short,  any  thing  of  this  kind.     But 
such  things  as,  being  delectable,  contribute  to  health,  or 
to  a  good  habit  of  body— these  he  desires  moderately, 
and  in  such  a  way  as  is  proper.     He  also  desires  other 
delectable   things,  which    are   not    an   impediment    to 
these,  or  which  are  not  adverse  to  the  beautiful  in  con- 
duct, or  above  his  income ;  for  he  who  is  thus  affected, 
loves  such  pleasures  beyond  their  desert.     The  tem- 
perate man,  however,  is  not  a  person  of  this  description, 
but  is  one  who  acts  conformably  to  right  reason. 


Chap.  xii. 


ETHICS. 


113 


CHAPTER  XII. 


INTEMPKRANCK,  however,  appears  to  be  more  similar 
to  the  voluntary  than  timidity;  for  the  former  subsists 
on  account  of  pleasure,  but  the  latter  on  account  of 

ri  1;  '"  °"'  ''"^'''^  '^  ^''gible,  but  the  other 

s  to  be  avoided.     And  pain  indeed  astounds  and  disturbs 
the  nature  of  «s  possessor  ;    but   pleasure    produce, 
nothing  of  this  kind.     It  is.  therefore,  more  vlnta" 
and  on  this  account  also  it  is  more  disgraceful.     For  it  is 
more  easy  to  be  accustomed  to  these  things,  since  there 
are  many  such  m  life ;  and  the  being  accustomed  to  them 
IS  unattended  w^th  danger.     But  the  contrary  takes  plac^ 
m  things  of  a  dreadful  nature.     Timidity,  likewise,  may 
appear  not  to  be  similarly  voluntary  with  particulars.    For 
timidity,  indeed,  is  without  pain ;  but  particulars  so  astound 
men  through  pain,  that  they  throw  away  their  arms,  and 
act  m  other  thmgs  indecorously ;  and  on  this  account 

place  with  the  intemperate  man;  for  particulars  with 
him  are  voluntary;  since  he  desires  them,  and  his  appe- 

ZltT    1°  '^''"-     ^"'  ''^^  ^"^'^^  Cof  an  intem- 
perate life]  IS  less  voluntary ;  for  no  one  desires  to  be 

mtemperate.    We  transfer  also  the  name  of  intemperance 

to  puerde  errors ;  for  they  possess  a  certain  similitude  ; 

but  which  of  these  is  deiy,minated  from  the  other  is  of 

no  consequence  to  the  present  discussion.   It  is,  however, 

■^'"'*^*  VOL.  II.  ,j 


114 


THE    NICOMACHEAN    ETHICS.         BOOK  III, 


evident,  that  the  latter  is  denominated  from  the  former ; 
nor  does  the  transition  appear  to  be  badly  made.  For 
that  which  desires  what  is  base  is  to  be  punished,  and 
which  has  an  abundant  increase.  But  desires  in  a  child 
are  especially  a  thing  of  this  kind;  for  children  live 
according  to  desire,  and  in  these  the  appetite  of  the  delec- 
table especially  flourishes.  If,  therefore,  this  appetite  is 
not  obedient,  and  subject  to  the  governor  [reason,]  it 
increases  abundantly.  For  the  appetite  of  the  delectable 
is  insatiable,  and  in  the  stupid  man  is  every  way  diffused; 
and  the  energy  of  desire  increases  that  which  is  allied  to 
it,  so  that  if  the  desires  are  great  and  vehement,  they  ex- 
pel the  reasoning  power.  Hence,  it  is  necessary  that 
they  should  be  moderate  and  few,  and  in  no  respect 
adverse  to  reason.  But  we  call  a  thing  of  this  kind  obe- 
dient, and  reformed  by  correction  ;  for  as  it  is  necessary 
that  a  child  should  live  conformably  to  the  mandate  of 
his  preceptor,  thus  also  it  is  requisite  that  the  part  of  the 
soul  which  energizes  according  to  desire  should  live  con- 
formably to  reason.  Hence  it  is  necessary  that  this  part 
of  the  soul  in  the  temperate  man  should  accord  with 
reason ;  for  the  end  proposed  by  both  [i.  e.  by  reason 
and  desire  in  the  temperate  man]  is  the  beautiful  in  con- 
duct. And  the  temperate  man  desires  those  things 
which  it  is  proper  to  desire,  and  as,  and  when  it  is  proper. 
But  reason  likewise  thus  ordains.  And  thus  much  con- 
cerning temperance. 


THE 


NICOMACHEAN    ETHICS. 


BOOK  IV. 


CHAPTER  I. 

In  the  next  place,  let  us  speak  concerning  liberality 
But  It  appears  to  be  a  medium  about  riches.     For  the 
liberal  man  is  praised,  not  in  warlike  concerns,  nor  in 
hose  things  m  which  the  temperate  man  is  praised,  nor 
again,  m  judicial  affairs,  but  in  the  giving  and  recdving 
of  riches ;  and  more  m  the  giving,  than  the  receiving 
We   call,  however,   riches  every  thing,    the  worth  ff 
which  IS  measured  by  money.     But  prodigality  and  ilH 
ber^uy  are  excesses  and  defects  about  riches.^  Ind  we 
always,   indeed,   ascribe   ilh-beraHty   to  those,   who  ply 
more  attention  to  riches  than  is  proper ;  but  combinin/ 

^or  we  call  both  the  mcontment,  and  those  who  consume 


ii»iauiissia:diifjssi!tg&£j&  3aa«iB.ija«g.fti,riiMtaafci-'ju,jK-»^^ 


116 


THE    NICOMAGHEAK 


BOOK  IV. 


their  property  in  intemperance,  prodigals.  Hence,  men  of 
this  description  appear  to  be  most  depraved  ;  for  at  one 
and  the  same  time  they  have  many  vices.  They  are  not, 
however,  appropriately  denominated.  For  he  is  a  prodigal, 
who  has  one  certain  vice,  viz.  the  consumpiion  of  his  pro- 
perty. For  he  is  a  prodigal,  who  is  destroyed  through  him- 
self; since  the  consumption  of  his  property  appears  to  be  a 
certain  destruction  of  himself,  as  through  this  the  means 
of  living  are  obtained.  In  this  way,  therefore,  we  consi* 
der  prodigality. 

With  respect  to  those  things,  however,  of  which  there  is 
a  certain  use,  it  is  possible  to  use  them  well  or  ill.     But 
wealth  is  among  the  number  of  things  useful.     And  he 
uses  every  thing  in  the  best  manner,  who  possesses  the 
virtue  pertaining  to  each  thing.     He,  therefore,  will  use 
wealth  in  the  best  manner,  who  has  the  virtue  pertaining 
;  to  riches ;  and  he  is  the  liberal  man.     The  use,  however, 
of  riches  appears  to  be   expense  and  donation ;  but  the 
accepting  and  preservation  of  riches,  is  rather  possession. 
Hence,  it  is  more  the  province  of  a  liberal  man  to  give 
to  those  to  whom  it  is  proper,  than  to  receive  whence  it 
is  proper,  and  not  to  receive  whence  it  is  not  proper. 
For  it  is  more  the  province  of  virtue  to  benefit  than  to 
be  benefited,  and  to  perform  things  which  are  beautiful, 
than  not  to  perform  things  which  are  base.      It  is  not, 
however,  immanifest,  that  to  giving,  to  benefit  and  to  act 
beautifully   are   consequent  ;    but   to   receiving,   to   be 
benefited,  or  not  to  act  basely.      Thanks,  also,  are^re- 
sented  to  the  giver,  but  not  to  the  receiver  ;  and  praise 
is  rather  bestowed  on  the  former  than  the  latter.     It  is^n 
likewise,  more  easy  not  to  receive  than  to  give ;  for  men 
are  less  willing  to  bestow  what  is  their  own,  than  not  to 


CHAP.  I. 


ETHICS. 


117 


receive  what  belongs  to  another.      Those,   also,   who 
bestow  are  called  liberal ;  but  those  who  do  not  receive, 
are  not  praised  for  liberality,  but  are  no  less  praised  for 
justice.    Those,  however,  who  receive,  are  not  very  much 
praised.     But  of  all  those  who  are  loved  on  account  of  l 
virtue,  the  liberal  are  nearly  beloved  the  most ;  for  they  ' 
benefit  others ;  and  this  consists  in  giving.     The  actions, 
however,  according  to  virtue  are  beautiful,  and  are  for 
the  sake  of  the  beautiful.     The  liberal  man,  therefore, 
gives  for  the  sake  of  the  beautiful,  and  gives  rightly ;  for 
he  gives  to  those  to  whom  it  is  proper,  and  such  things 
as  are  proper,  and  when  it  is  proper,  and  whatever  other 
particulars  are  consequent  to  giving  rightly ;  and  this  he 
does  either  delectably,  or  without  pain.     For  that  which 
is  conformable  to  virtue  is  delectable  or  without  pain,  but 
is  m  the  smallest  degree  painful.     But  he  who  gives  to 
those  to  whom  it  is  not  proper,  or  not  for  the  sake  of 
the  beautiful,  but  from  some  other  cause,  is  not  liberal, 
but  must  be  called  by  some  other  name.     Nor  is  he  llbe' 
ral  who  gives  with  pain ;  for  such  a  one  would  prefer ' 
riches  to  a  beautiful  action  ;  but  this  is  not  the  province 
of  a  liberal  man.     Nor  does  the  liberal  man  receive  from 
whence  it  is  not  proper  to  receive ;  for  neither  is  such  a 
kind  of  receiving  the  province  of  one  who  does  not  honour 
riches.     Neither  will  the  liberal  man  be  readily  disposed 
to  ask  a  favour;  for  it  is  not  the  province  of  him  who  be- 
nefitS,  to  be  benefited  easily.    But  he  will  take  whence  it 
IS  proper;. as,  for  instance,  from  his  own  possessions, 
not  as  a  thing  beautiful,  but  as  necessary,  in  order  that  he 
may  have  the  means  of  giving.     Nor  will  he  neglect  his 
own  affairs,  because  he  wishes,  through  these,  to  supply 
the  wants  of  certain  persons.    Nor  will  he  give  to  any 
casual  persons,  in  order  that  he  may  have  to  give  to  those 


118 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK    IV. 


to  whom  it  IS  proper,  and  when  it  is  proper,  and  where  it  is 
beautiful  to  give.  It  is,  likewise,  very  much  the  province  of 
a  liberal  man,  so  to  exceed  in  giving,  as  to  leave  but  little 
for  himself;  for  it  is  the  property  of  a  liberal  man  not  to  con- 
sider  himself.  But  liberality  is  denominated  according  to  the 
property  which  is  possessed  ;  for  the  liberal  does  not 
consist  in  the  multitude  of  gifts,  but  in  the  habit  of  the 
giver;  and  this  habit  gives  according  to  the  means  of 
giving.      Nothing,  however,  hinders  but  that  he  may  be 
a  more  liberal  man  who  gives  fewer  things,  if  he  gives 
them  from  less  means.     But  those  persons  appear  to  be 
more   liberal,  who  have  not  acquired  property  them- 
selves,  but  have  received  it  from  others ;  for  they  have 
had  no  experience  of  want,  and  all  men  are  more  attached 
to  their  own  works,  as  is  evident  in  parents  and  poets. 
It  is  not,  however,  easy  for  the  liberal  man  to  be  rich, 
since  he  is   neither   anxious    to   receive   nor   preserve 
wealth,   but   is   more   disposed  to  give,  and  does  not 
honour  riches  on  their  own  account,  but  for  the  sake  of 
giving.      Hence,  also,  fortune  is  accused,  because  those 
who  most  deserve  to  be,   are  in  the   smallest  degree, 
wealthy.   This,  however,  does  not  happen  unreasonably; 
for  it  is  not  possible  that  he  should  be  rich,  who  pays  no 
attention  to  the  means  of  obtaining  wealth  ;  as  is  also  the 
case  in  other  things.     Nevertheless,  the  liberal  man  will 
not  give  to  those  to  whom  he  ought  not,  nor  when  he 
ought  not,  and  other  things  of  the  like  kind ;  for  if  he 
did,  he  would  no  longer  act  conformably  to- liberality  ; 
and  by  thus  consuming  his  wealth  improperly,*  he  would 
not  have  the  means  of  giving  to  those  to  whom  he  ought 
.to  give.     For  as  we  have  said,  he  is  a  liberal  man  who 
Jspends  according  to  his  property,  and  on  things  on  which 
;he  ought  to  spend  ;  but  he  who  exceeds  [his  means]  in 


CHAP,  I. 


ETHICS. 


119 


spending,  is  a  prodigal.      Hence,  we  do  not  call  tyrants 
prodigals ;  for  it  does  not  seem  to  be  easy  by  gifts  and 
expenses  to  exceed  the  abundance  of  their  possessions. 
Since,  therefore,  liberality  is  a  medium  which  is  convert 
sant  about  giving  and  receiving  riches,  the  liberal  man 
will  give  and  spend  on  things  on  which  he  ought,  and  as 
much  as  he  ought,  as  well  in  small  things  as  in  great ; 
and  he  will  thus  act  willingly,  and  with  pleasure.     He 
will  likewise  receive  whence  it  is  proper,  and  such  things 
as  he  ought  to  receive.   For  since  this  virtue  is  a  medium 
about  giving  and  receiving,  he  will  do  both  these  in  such 
a  way  as  is  proper;  since  a  receiving  of  this  kind  is  conse- 
quent  to  giving  equitably  ;  but  a  receiving  which  is  not 
of  this  kind,  is  the  contrary.     Things,  therefore,  which 
are  consequent  may  subsist  together  in  the  same  thing ; 
but  it  is  evident  that  contraries  cannot.     But  if  it  should 
happen  to  the  liberal  man  that  he  should  spend  beyond 
what  ^he  ought,  and  beyond  what  is  becoming,  he  will 
be  pained,  yet  moderately,  and  in  such  a  manner  as  is 
proper.     For  it  is  the  province  of  virtue  to  be  pleased 
and  pained  with  those  things  with  which  it  is  proper  to 
be  so,  and  in  such  a  way  as  is  proper.     The  liberal  man, 
also,  is  very  pliable  in  pecuniary  contracts.     For  he  may 
be  injured,  since  he  does  not  honour  riches ;  and  he  is 
more  indignant  if  he  has  not  spent  what   he  ought,  than 
pained  if  he  has  spent  what  he  ought  not ;  for  he  does 
not  assent  to  Simonides.'     But  the  prodigal  errs,  also,  in 
these  things.     For  he  is  neither  pleased  nor  pained  with 

*  Plutarch  in  his  treatise  Whether  an  elderly  man  should  engage 
in  the  management  of  public  affairs,  relates  of  Simonides,  that  he 
said  to  those  who  accused  him  of  avarice,  «*  that  being  deprived, 
through  old  age,  of  other  pleasures,  he  could  yet  recreate  his  age 
by  one  pleasure,  the  deh'ght  of  gain." 


120 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IV. 


things  with  which  he  ought,   nor  as  he  ought ;   but  this 
vrill  be  more  evident  as  we  proceed. 

It  has,  however,  been  observed  by  us,  that  prodigality 
and  ilhberality  are  excesses   and    defects ;  and  in  two 
things,  viz.  in  giving  and  receiving.     For  we  place  ex- 
pense in  the  same  class  with  giving.     Prodigality,  there, 
fore,  exceeds  in  giving  and  not  receiving,  but  ii  fails  in 
receiving.     And  illiberality  fails,  indeed,   in  g,v,ng,  but 
exceeds  m  receiving,  except  in  small  things.     The  pecu- 
hanties,  therefore,  of  prodigality  cannot  be  very  much 
conjomed.     For  it  is  not  easy  for  him  who  receives  no- 
thmg,  to  give  to  every  one ;  since  the  property  of  those 
private  individuals  rapidly  fails,  who  also  appear  to  be 
prodigals.  For  a  man  of  this  description  does  seem  to  be 
better,  though  not  much,  than  the  illiberal  man  ;  for  he 
is  easily  cured  by  age,  and  by  want,  and  may  arrive  at  the 
medium.     For  he  has  the  properties  of  the  liberal  man  - 
since  he  gives,  and  does  not  receive;  yet   neither  as  he 
ought,  nor  in  a  becoming   manner.     If,  therefore,   he 
should  happen  to  be  accustomed  to  this,  or  in  some  other 
way  should  be  changed,  he  would  become  liberal ;  for  ho 
would  give  to  those  to  whom  it  is  proper,  and  would  not 
receive  whence  it  is  not  proper.     Hence,  the  prodigal 
does  not  appear  to  be  depraved  in  his  manners ;  for  it  is 
not  the  property  of  a  bad,  or  ignoble,  but  of  a  stupid 
man,  to  exceed  in  giving  and  not  receiving.     But   he 
who  IS  prodigal  after  this  manner,  appears  to  be  much 
better  than  the  illiberal  man,  for  the   above-mentioned 
reasons,  and  also  because  the  one  benefits  many,  but  the 
other  no  one,  and  not  even  himself.     The  multitude  of 
prodigals,  however,  as  we  have  said,   receive  whence 
they  ought  not,  and  according  to  this  are  illiberal.     But 


i  JteBfaferii^gag-  -aft.  ^■-■^>L^m 


CHAP.  I. 


ETHICS. 


121 


they  become  prompt  to  receive,  because,  through  being 
willing  to  spend,  they  are  unable  to  do  this  with  facility  ; 
for  the  means  of  spending   rapidly  fail  them.     Hence, 
they  are  compelled  to  procure  money  elsewhere  ;    but  at 
the  same  time,  because  they  pay  no  attention  to  the  beau- 
tiful in  conduct,  they  receive  negligently,  and  from  every 
one  indiscriminately.     For  they  desire  to  give  ;  but  it  is 
of  no  consequence  to  them  how,  or  whence  they  give. 
On  this  account,  neither  are  their  gifts  liberal ;  for  they 
are  not  beautiful,  nor  for  the  sake  of  this  very  thing  the 
beautiful  in  conduct,  nor  are  they  bestowed  as  they  ought 
to  he  ;  but  sometimes  they  cause  those  to  be  rich  who 
ought  to  be  poor,  and  give  nothing  to  men  whose  man- 
ners are  moderate,  but  bestow  much  on  flatterers,  or 
those  who  are  the  means  of  procuring  them  any  other 
pleasures.     Hence,  also,  most  of  them  are  intemperate  ; 
for  as  they  spend  their  money  easily,  they  likewise  spend 
profusely,  on  things  of  an  intemperate  nature  ;  and  be- 
cause they  do  not  live  with  a  view  to  the  beautiful  in  con- 
duct, they  incline  to  pleasures.     The  prodigal,  therefore, 
unless  he  is  corrected,  falls  into  these  vices  ;  but  by  care 
and  diligence,  he  may  arrive  at  the  medium,  and  to  what 
is  becoming  in  conduct. 


Illiberality,  however,  is  incurable ;  for  old  age,  and 
every  infirmity,  appear  to  render  men  illiberal,  and  it  is 
more  congenial  to  them  than  prodigality.  For  the  mul- 
titude are  more  desirous  of  gain,  than  disposed  to  give. 
Illiberality,  likewise,  extends  widely,  and  is  multiform  5 
since  there  appear  to  be  many  modes  of  it.  For,  consist- 
ing in  two  things,  a  deficiency  in  giving,  and  excess  in  re- 
ceiving, it  is  not  wholly  and  entirely  present  with  all  illi- 
beral men,  but  sometimes  it  is  divided ;  and  some,  in- 


122 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IV^ 


deed,  exceed   in  receiving,  but  others  are  deficient  in 
riving.     For  all  those  to  whom  such  appellations  apply, 
as,  niggardly,   tenacious,  and    sordid,  are   deficient  in 
giving ;  but  they  do  not  desire  the  property  of  others, 
nor  do  they  wish  to  receive,  some,  indeed,  through  a  cer- 
tain probity,  and  an  avoidance  of  base  conduct.     For 
some  of  them  seem  to  take  care  of  their  own  property, 
or  at  least  say  that  they  do  so,  in  order  that  they  may  not 
at  any  time  be  compelled  to  do  any  thing  base.    Of  these 
characters,  however,  the  skinflint,  and  every  one  of  the 
like  kind,  is  so  denominated  from  giving  to  no  one  in 
excess.  But  others  of  these  abstain  from  property  which 
is  not  their  own,  through  fear,  because  it  is  not  easy  for 
him  who  takes  what  belongs  to  others,  to  preserve  his 
own  property  unviolated.     Hence,  they  are  disposed  nei- 
ther to  receive  nor  give.     Others,  again,  exceed  in   re- 
ceiving, in  consequence  of  receiving  on  all  sides  and 
every  thing ;  such  as  those  who  perform  illiberal  works, 
together  with  panders,  usurers,  gamesters,  sharpers,  and 
other  depredators,  and  those  who  for  the  sake  of  a  little, 
subject  themselves  to  great  infamy.     For  all  these  receive 
whence  they  ought  not,  and  what  they  ought  not.     The 
acquisition,  however,  of  base  gain  appears  to  be  common 
to  these  ;  for  all  of  them  endure  disgrace  for  the  sake  of 
gain,  and  this  small.     For  we  do  not  call  those  illiberal, 
who  receive  great  things  whence  they  ought  not,  and 
such  as  they  ought  not,  as,  for  instance,  tyrants,  the  sub- 
verters  of  cities,  and  the  plunderers  of  temples;  but  we 
rather  call  them  depraved  and  impious,  and  unjust.    The 
gamester,  indeed,  the  highwayman;  and  the  sharper,  are 
among  the  number  of  illiberal  characters ;  for  they  are 
addicted  to  base  gain  ;  since,  for  the  sake  of  gain,  they 
devote  themselves  to  these  employments,  and  endure  dis- 


/ 


^. 


CHAP.  n. 


ETHICS. 


123 


grace.  And  some,  indeed,  expose  themselves  to  the 
greatest  dangers  for  the  sake  of  what  they  may  get ;  but 
others  gain  something  from  their  friends  to  whom  they 
ought  to  give.  Both  these,  therefore,  since  they  wish  to 
enrich  themselves  whence  they  ought  not,  are  addicted 
to  base  gain  ;  and  all  such  receivings  are  illiberal.  Rea- 
sonably, also,  is  illiberality  said  to  be  contrary  to  libe- 
rality ;  for  it  is  a  greater  evil  than  prodigality,  and  men 
err  more  in  this  than  in  the  prodigality  of  which  we 
have  spoken  above.  And  thus  much  concerning  liberality, 
and  the  opposite  vices. 


CHAPTER  II. 


It  would  seem  to  fdllow  that  we  should,  in  the  next 
place,  discuss  magnificence  ;  for  it  also  appears  to  be  a 
certain  virtue  which  is  conversant  with  riches.  It  does 
not,  however,  in  the  same  manner  as  liberality,  extend  to 
all  pecuniary  actions,  but  only  to  those  that  are  sump- 
tuous. But  in  these  it  surpasses  liberality  in  magnitude ; 
for,  as  its  name  signifies,  it  is  a  becoming  costliness  in 
great  things.  Magnitude,  however,  is  a  relative ;  for 
the  same  expense  does  not  become  the  commander  of  a 
three-ranked  galley,  and  the  president  of  a  public  spec- 
tacle.    The  becoming,  therefore,  subsists  with  reference 


r^<M\' 


.:J<^ 


124 


THE  NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IV. 


to  him  who  spends,  and  to  the  thing  on  which  he  spends 
his  money,  and  the  money  which  is  spent.  He,  how- 
ever, who  spends  with  decorum  in  small,  or  in  moderate 
things,  is  not  called  magnificent ;  such  as, 

To  vagrant  mendicants  I  oft  have  giv'n ;  * 

but  he  who  spends  appropriately  in  great  things.  For 
the  magnificent  is  a  liberal  man  ;  but  the  liberal  man  is 
not,  because  liberal,  magnificent.  Of  a  habit,  however, 
of  this  kind,  the  deficiency  indeed  is  called  parsimony  ; 
but  the  excess,  vulgar  ostentation,  and  ignorance  of 
what  is  elegant ;  and  such  other  appellations  as  belong 
to  habits  which  do  not  exceed  in  magnitude  about  things 
in  which  great  expense  is  becoming,  but  exhibit  a  splen- 
did profusion,  in  things  in  which  such  profusion  is  not 
proper.  Concerning  these,  however,  we  shall  speak 
hereafter.  But  the  magnificent  reseqibles  the  scientific 
man ;  for  he  is  able  to  survey  what  is  decorous,  and  can 
spend  largely  with  elegance.  For,  as  we  said  in  the  be- 
ginning, habit  is  defined  by  energies,  and  by  those  things 
of  which  it  is  the  habit.  But  the  expenses  of  the  mag- 
nificent man  are  great  and  becoming ;  and  such  also  are 
his  deeds ;  for  thus  the  expense  will  be  great,  and  adapted 
to  the  deed.  Hence,  it  is  necessary  that  the  deed  should 
be  worthy  the  expense,  and  the  expense  worthy  the  deed, 
or  even  surpassing  it.  The  magnificent  man,  therefore, 
spends  after  this  manner  for  the  sake  of  the  beautiful  in 
conduct ;  for  this  is  common  to  the  virtues  ;  and  he  also 
spends  with  pleasure  and  largely,  because  an  accurate  at- 
tention to  expense,   is  the  province  of  a  parsimonious 


I  '■f 


These  are  the  words  of  Ulysses,  when  begging  money  of  An- 
tinous,  Odyss.  17,  v.  ¥20, 


CHAP.  II. 


ETHICS. 


125 


man.  The  magnificent  man,  likewise,  will  rather  consi- 
der how  he  may  accomplish  the  most  beautiful  and  be- 
coming work,  than  the  money  it  will  cost,  and  how  it  may 
be  accomplished  with  the  least  expense.  It  is  necessary, 
therefore,  that  the  magnificent  should  also  be  a  liberal 
man ;  for  the  liberal  man  spends  what  he  ought,  and  as 
he  ought.  But  in  these  things  whatever  is  great  per- 
tains  to  the  magnificent  man,  magnificence  being  as  it 
were  a  certain  magnitude  of  liberality.  Since,  however, 
liberality  is  conversant  with  the  same  things  as  magnifi- 
cence, the  magnificent  man  will  produce  a  more  magnifi- 
cent work  from  an  equal  expense.  For  there  is  not  the 
same  virtue  of  possession  and  a  work ;  since  the  virtue  of 
a  possession  is,  to  be  of  great  worth,  and  most  precious, 
as  gold ;  but  the  virtue  of  a  work  is  to  be  great  and  beau- 
tiful.  For  the  survey  of  a  thing  of  this  kind  is  admi- 
rable.  But  the  magnificent  is  admirable  ;  and  the  virtue 
of  a  work  is  magnificence  in  magnitude.  Among  ex- 
penses, however,  which  we  call  honourable,  are  such  as 
pertain  to  the  worship  of  the  gods,  gifts  dedicated  to  di- 
vinity, the  building  of  temples,  and  sacrifices  ;  and  in  a 
similar  manner  such  things  as  pertain  to  every  demonia- 
cal nature,  and  such  as  are  bestowed  on  the  community 
at  large  from  a  laudable  ambition.  Thus  the  expenses  of 
the  magnificent  man  will  be  of  this  kind,  if  he  should 
think  it  requisite  to  furnish  public  spectacles  splendidly, 
or  three-ranked  gallies,  or  to  feast  the  city.  But  in  all 
things,  as  we  have  said,  it  must  be  considered  who  the 
agent  is,  and  what  the  means  are  which  he  possesses.  For 
the  expense  ought  to  be  such  as  is  worthy  of  the  means, 
knd  not  only  adapted  to  the  work,  but  also  to  him  by 
whom  it  is  effected.  Hence  a  poor  cannot  be  a  magnifi- 
cent  man  j  for  he  haajopt  the  means  of  spending  much 


126 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IV. 


in  a  becoming  manner.  The  poor  man,  therefore,  who 
endeavours  to  do  so  is  stupid ;  for  such  an  endeavour  is 
repugnant  to  his  means  and  to  the  becoming.  But  that 
which  is  done  rightly,  is  done  according  to  virtue.  Such 
expense,  however,  becomes  those  who  possess  hereditary 
wealth,  or  have  procured  it  themselves,  or  have  derived 
it  from  their  ancestors,  or  by  legacy.  And  it  likewise 
becomes/those  who  are  noble  and  renowned,  and  other 
persons  of  the  like  kind ;  for  all  these  have  magnitude 
and  dignity.  The  magnificent  man,  therefore,  is  espe- 
cially a  person  of  this  description  ;  and  magnificence,  as 
we  have  said,  consists  in  such-like  expenses ;  for  they  are 
the  greatest,  and  the  most  honourable. 

With  respect  to  private  expenses,  however,  those  per- 
tain to  the  magnificent  man,  which  are  incurred  but  once ; 
such  as  marriage,  and  whatever  also  there  may  be  of  the 
like  kind,  and  that  about  which  the  whole  city  is  ear- 
nestly occupied,  or  those  who  are  in  a  dignified  situation. 
Also  such  expenses  as  pertain  to  the  receiving  and  dis- 
missing of  strangers,  together  with  gifts  and  remunera- 
tions. For  the  magnificent  man  does  not  spend  sump- 
tuously on  himself,  but  on  the  public.  But  gifts  have 
something  similar  to  things  consecrated  to- the  gods.  It 
IS  also  the  province  of  a  magnificent  man  to  build  a  house 
in  a  manner  adapted  to  wealth,  [for  this  also  is  a  certain 
ornament ;]  and  to  bestow  more  upon  those  works  which 
are  more  lasting ;  for  these  are  most  beautiful.  It  is 
likewise  his  province,  in  each  of  these  to  observe  the  be- 
coming ;  for  the  same  things  are  not  adapted  to  gods  and 
men,  either  in  building  a  temple  or  a  sepulchre.  And 
every  essense,  indeed,  is  great  in  its  own  kind ;  and  that 
is  most  magnificent  which  is  great  in  a  great  thing ;  but  that 


CHAP.  H. 


ETHICS. 


127 


is  so  in  the  second  place  which  is  great  in  these  things. 
For  there  is  a  difference  between  magnitude  in  a  work, 
and   magnitude  in  expense ;  since  a  ball,  indeed,  or  a 
most  beautiful  jug,  possess  the  magnificence  of  a  childish 
gift ;  but  the  price  of  these  is  small  and  illiberal.     On 
this  account  it  is  the  province  of  a  magnificent  man  to  do 
magnificently  whatever   he  may  do,  in  every  genus  of 
things.     For  a  thing  of  this  kind  cannot  easily  be  trans- 
cended,   and  the  magnitude  of  the   expense   is   appro- 
priate.    Such,  therefore,  is  the  magnificent  man.     But 
he  who  exceeds  and  is  vulgarly  ostentatious,  exceeds  by 
spending,  as  we  have  before  observed,   beyond  what  is 
becoming.     For  in  small  things,  and  which  require  but 
small  expense,  he  consumes  much  money,  and  is  discord- 
antly splendid.     Thus,  for  instance,   he  will  prepare  a 
wedding  dinner  through  ostentation,  and  give  money  to 
players  who  are  present  at  the  entertainment,  as  if  it  were 
for  the  public  advantage.     And  in  plays  he  will  intro- 
duce a  purple  curtain  before  the  scenes,  as  is  done  by  the 
Megarensians.     He  will  likewise  do  every  thing  of  this 
kind,  not  for  the  sake  of  the  beautiful  in  conduct,  but 
that  he  may  display  his  wealth,  and  fancies  that  on  ac- 
count of  these   things  he  shall  be  admired.     In  things 
likewise  where  much  expense  is  required,  he  spends  but 
little ;  but  where  little  expense  is  required,  he  spends 
largely.     The  parsimonious  man,  however,  is  deficient  in 
every  thing ;  and  when  he  hasi  incurred  a  great  expense, 
then  looking  to  the  completion  of  the  work,  by  a  too 
accurate  investigation,  he  leaves  it  imperfect  through  too 
little  expense.     Every  thing  also  which  he  does  is  accom- 
panied with  delay  and  consideration ;  and  on  this  account 
he  laments,  and  fancies  that  he  does  every  thing  on  a 
larger  scale  than  he  ought.    These  habits,  therefore,  are 


128 


THE  NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IV. 


vices ;  yet  they  do  not  bring  with  them  disgrace,  because 
they  are  neither  injurious  to  others,  nor  base  in  the  ex- 
treme. 


CHAPTER    III. 


But  magnanimity  is  conversant  with  great  things,  as 
is  evident  from  the  very  name.  What  the  quality  of  the 
things  is,  however,  with  which  it  is  conversant,  we  must 
in  the  first  place  consider.  But  it  makes  no  difference 
whether  we  survey  the  habit,  or  him  who  subsists  accord- 
ing to  the  habit.  He,  however,  appears  to  be  magnani- 
mous  who  deserving  great  things  thinks  that  he  deserves 
them  ;  for  he  who  thinks  thus  of  himself  undeservedly, 
is  stupid.  But  no  one  who  is  endued  with  virtue,  is 
either  stupid  or  a  fool.  The  above-mentioned  character, 
therefore,  is  magnanimous.  For  he  who  deserves  small 
things,  and  thinks  that  he  deserves  them,  is  a  modest, 
but  not  a  magnanimous  man ;  since  magnanimity  con- 
sists in  magnitude,  just  as  beauty  consists  in  a  large 
body  ;  for  small  men  are  elegant,  and  have  symmetry  of 
form,  but  are  not  beautiful.  He,  however,  who  thinks 
that  he  deserves  great  things,  but  thus  thinks  undeserv- 
edly, is  proud  ;  though  not  every  one  is  proud,  who,  de- 
serving many  things,  thinks  he  deserves  more.  But  he 
who  estimates  himself  less  than  he  deserves  is  pusillani- 


CHAP.  in. 


ETHICS. 


129 


mous,  if,  deserving  things  of  a  moderate  or  small  nature, 
he  thinks  himself  to  deserve  still  less  than  these.  And  he 
will  especially  appear  to  be  a  character  of  this  kind,  who, 
deserving  great  things,  [has  this  humiliating  opinion  of 
himself.]  For  what  would  he  do  if  he  were  not  deserv- 
ing of  such  things  ?  The  magnanimous  man,  therefore, 
is  in  magnitude  the  summit,  but  in  that  which  is  requi- 
site the  middle  ;  for  he  thinks  himself  deserving  of  that 
which  he  does  deserve  ;  but  the  other  characters  exceed 
and  are  deficient*  Hence,  if  deserving  great  things  he 
thinks  that  he  deserves  them,  and  especially  if  he  deserves 
the  greatest  things,  he  will  principally  be  conversant  with 
one  thing.  What  this  is,  therefore,  must  be  assumed 
from  desert,  and  desert  js  denominated  with  reference  to 
external  goods.  We  must,  however,  consider  that  as 
the  greatest  of  external  goods,  which  we  attribute  to  the 
Gods,  after  which  those  who  are  in  a  dignified  situation 
especially  aspire,  and  which  is  the  reward  of  the  most 
beautiful  deeds.  But  honour  is  a  thing  of  this  kind ; 
for  this  is  the  greatest  of  external  goods.  The  magna- 
nimous man,  therefore,  is  conversant  with  honour  and 
dishonour,  in  such  a  manner  as  is  proper.  And  indeed, 
without  any  reasoning  process,  the  magnanimous  appear 
to  be  conversant  with  honour  ;  for  great  men  especially 
think  themselves  deserving  of  honour ;  but  they  think 
so  deservedly.  The  pusillanimous  man,  however,  is  de. 
ficient  both  with  respect  to  himself,  and  the  desert  of  the 
magnanimous  man.  But  the  proud  man  exceeds,  in- 
deed, with  respect  to  himself,  yet  not  with  respect  to  the 
magnanimous  man.  The  magnanimous  man,  however, 
if  he  is  deserving  of  the  greatest  things,  vnll  be  the  best 
of  men ;  for  a  better  character  always  deserves  some- 
thing greater,  and  the  best  of  characters  deserves  the 


ArisL 


VOL.  II. 


130 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IV, 


CHAP.  in. 


ETHICS. 


131 


^' 


greatest  of  things.  Hence  it  is  necessary,  that  the  truly 
magnanimous  man  should  be  a  good  man ;  and  that 
which  is  great  in  every  virtue  will  appear  to  belong  to 
the  magnanimous  man.  Nor  does  it  by  any  means  ac- 
cord with  the  character  of  the  magnanimous  man  to  :fly, 
agitated  [with  fear,]  or  to  injure  any  one.  For  on  what 
account  will  he  act  basely,  to  whom  nothing  is  great. 
But  from  a  survey  of  particulars,  the  magnanimous  man 
will  appear  to  be  ridiculous,  if  he  is  not  a  good  man. 
Nor,  indeed,  will  he  be  worthy  of  honour  if  he  is  a  bad 
man;  for  honour  is  the  reward  of  virtue,  and  is  con- 
ferred  on  good  men.  Magnanimity,  therefore,  appears 
to  be,  as  it  were,  a  certain  ornament  of  the  virtues  ;  for 
it  causes  them  to  be  greater,  and  does  not  exist  with- 
out  them.  On  this  account  ft  is  truly  difficult  to  be  mag- 
nanimous;  for  it  is  not  .possible  to  be  so  without  inte- 
grity  and  worth. 

>      The  magnanimous  man,  therefore,  is  especially  con- 
versant  with  honour  and  dishonour.     And  with  great 
honours,  indeed,  and  those  which  are  conferred  by  wor- 
thy men,  he  is  moderately  pleased,  as  being  things  fami- 
«ar  and  adapted  to  him,  or  rather  less  than  he  deserves ; 
for  there  can  be  no  honour  equal  to  the  desert  of  all- 
perfect  virtue.     Nevertheless,  he   will   admit  these  ho- 
nours,  because  they  have  not  any  thing  greater  .to  <:onfer 
upon  him.     But  he  will   entirely  despise  the   honour 
which  is  paid  him  by  casual  persons,  and  for  things  of 
a  trifling   nature  ;    for  these  do  not  accord  with   his 
desert.     And  in  a  similar  manner  he  will   despise  dis- 
honour ;  for  it  will  not  justly  befal  him.     The  magnani- 
mous man,  therefore,  as  we  have  said,  is  especially  con- 
Yersant  with   honour.     Nevertheless,   with  respect  to 


wealth  also,  and  power,  and  all  prosperous  and  adverse 
fortune,  he  will  conduct  himself  in  these  moderately,  in 
whatever  manner  they  may  take  place.     And  neither  in 
prosperity  will  he  be  very  much  elated,  nor  in  adversity 
very  much  dejected.     For  neither  is  he  affected  with 
respect  to  honour,  as  if  it  were  the  greatest  of  things,  since 
dominion  and  wealth  are  eligible  on  account  of  honour* 
Those,  therefore,  who  possess  these,  wish  through  them 
to  be  honoured.     To  him,  however,  to  whom  honour  is 
,    a  small  thing,  other  things  also  will  be  small.     Hence, 
likewise,  magnanimous  men  appear  to  be  supercilious. 
Prosperity,  however,  seems  to  contribute  to  magnanimity. 
For  those  that  are  nobly  born  are  thought  worthy  of  ho- 
nour ;  and  also  men  in  authority,  and  those   that  are 
rich  ;  for  they  surpass  others.     But  every  thing  which 
excels  in  good,  is  more  honourable.     Hence  also  things 
of  this  kind  cause  men  to  be  more   magnanimous ;  for 
they   are    honoured  by  certain   persons  on  account  of 
them.     In  reality,  however,  the  good  man  alone  is  to  be 
honoured  ;  but  he  who  possesses  both  these,  [i,  e.  good 
fortune  and  virtue,]  is  reckoned  more  deserving  of  ho- 
notir.     Those,  however,    who  possess  such-like  goods 
without  virtue,  neither  justly  think  themselves  worthy  of 
great  things,  nor  are  rightly  called  magnanimous  men ; 
for  magnanimity  cannot  exist  without  all-perfect  virtue. 
But  those  who  possess  things  of  this  kind  become  super- 
cilious and  insolent,  and  bad  men ;  for  without  virtue, 
it  is  not  easy  to  bear  prosperity  elegantly.      But   not 
being  able  to  bear  prosperity,  and  fancying   that   they 
surpass  other  men,  they  despise  them,  and  act  in  a  casual 
manner.     For  they  imitate  the  magnanimous  man  with- 
out resembling  him ;  and  they  do  this  in  those  things 
in  which  they  are   able.     Tbey  do  not,  therefore,  act 


132 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IV. 


'conformably  to  virtue,  but  they  despise  other  men.  The 
magnanimous  man,  however,  justly  despises  others  ;  for 
he  forms  a  true  opinion  [of  men  and  things  y\  but  the 
opinion  of  the  multitude  is  casually  formed. 

The  magnanimous  man  also   neither  exposes  himself 
to  small  dangers,  nor  is  a  lover  of  danger,  because  there 
are  but  few  things  which  he  considers  to  be  of  great  im- 
portance.    But  he  exposes  himself  to  great  dangers,  and 
when  he  is  in  danger,  is  not  sparing  of  his  life,  because 
rbe  does  not  consider  life  as  a  thing  of  great  importance. 
nHie  is  likewise  disposed  to  benefit  others,  but  is  ashamed 
I  to  be  benefited ;  for  the  former  is  the  province  of  one 
[  who   surpasses,  but  the  latter  of  one  who  is  surpassed. 
And  the  benefit  which  he  returns  exceeds  what  he  re- 
ceived.    For  thus  it  will  come  to  pass,  that  he  who  first 
bestowed  the  benefit,  will  be  his  debtor,  and  vnll  be  bene- 
;fited  by  him.   Magnanimous  men  also  appear  to  remem- 
ber those  whom  they  have  benefited,  but  not  those  from 
whom  they  have  derived  any   advantage ;  for  he  who 
receives,  is  inferior  to  him  who  confers,  the  benefit.    But 
the  magnanimous  man  wishes  to  excel.     Hence,  neither 
does  Thetis  mention  the  benefits  she  had  conferred  on 
Jupiter,  nor  the  Lacedaemonians  those  which  they  had 
conferred  on  the  Athenians,  but  those  which  they  had 
received  from  them.     It  is  likewise  the  property  of  a 
magnanimous  man  to  ask  nothing  of  any  one,  or  scarce- 
ly  to  do  so,  but  to  administer  readily   to  the  wants  of 
others.     And  towards  those  indeed  who  are  in  a  dignified 
situation,  and  in  prosperous  circumstances,  to  be  great 
pn  his  behaviour,]  but  moderate  towards  those  who  are 
ia  a  middle  condition.    For  to  surpass  the  former  is  difR- 
cult  and  venerable,  but  it  is  easy  to  excel  the  latter.  And 


CHAP.  ni. 


ETHICS. 


133 


to  conduct  himself  with  dignity  among  the  former  is  not 
ignoble,  but  among  the  lower  class  of  men  it  is  arrogant, 
in  the  same  manner  as  it  would  be  for  a  man  to  display 
his  strength  among  the  infirm.     It  is  also  the  property  of 
the  magnanimous  man  not  to  betake  himself  to  things 
which  are  held  in  honourable  estimation,  or  where  others 
possess  the  principal  place.     Likewise,  to  be  at  leisure, 
and  given  to  delay,  except  where  great  honour  is  to  be 
obtained,  or  some  great  work  is  to  be  accomplished ; 
^^nd  to  perform  a  few  things,  indeed,  but  these  great  and 
celebrated.     It  is  also  necessary  that  he  should  openly 
hate  and  openly  love  ;  for  to  conceal  love  or  hatred  is  the 
province  of  one  who  is  afraid.     It  is  likewise  the  property 
of  the  magnanimous  man,  to  regard  truth   more  than 
opbion.     And  also  to  speak  and  act  openly ;   for  this 
is  the  province  of  the  man  who  despises  others.     Hence 
he  uses  the  greatest  freedom  of  speech  ;  for  this  pertains  ' 
to  him  who  speaks  freely.     Hence,  too,  he  is  a  despiser 
of  others,  and  a  lover  of  truth,  unless  when  he  speaks 
ironically ;  but  his  language  is  ironical  to  the  vulgar. 
The  magnanimous  man,  likewise,  is  unable  to  live  with  ^ 
any  other  person  than  a  friend ;  for  it  is  servile.  Hence 
all  flatterers  are  mercenary  j  and  all  humble  men  are 
flatterers.     Nor  is  he  given  to  admiration ;  for  to  him 
nothing  is  great  [in  human  affairs.]     Nor  is  he  mindful 
of  injuries  ;  for  it  is  not  the  province  of  a  magnanimous 
man  to  be  mindful,  and  especially  of  evils  ;  but  rather  to 
overlook  them.    Nor  does  he  speak  about  men ;  for  nei- 
ther does  he  speak  about  iiimself,  nor  about  another  per- 
son.     For  he  is  not  concerned,  either  that  he  himself 
may  be  praised,  or  that  others  may   be  blamed.     Nor 
again,  is  he  addicted  to  praise.     Hence,  neither  does  he 
def2^e  any  one,  not  even  his  enemies,  unless  in  order  to 


134 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IV. 


remove  contumely  from  himself.  And  in  necessary,  or 
small  affairs,  he  is  by  no  means  querulous  and  suppliant ; 
for  to  be  so  is  the  province  of  a  man  who  considers  such 
affairs  as  of  great  consequence.  He  is  likewise  so  dis- 
posed, as  to  prefer  the  possession  of  things  beautiful  and 
unattended  vrfth  advantage,  to  such  as  are  advantageous 
and  useful ;  for  this  is  more  the  province  of  one  who  is 
sufficient  to  himself.  The  motion,  also,  of  the  magnani- 
mous man  is  slow,  his  voice  is  grave,  and  his  diction 
stable.  For  he  who  is  earnestly  attentive  to  but  few 
things  is  not  prone  to  be  hasty ;  nor  is  he  vehemently 
strenuous,  who  considers  nothing  [in  human  affairs^  as 
great.  But  acuteness  of  voice,  and  rapidity  of  motion, 
are  produced  from  vehemence,  and  considering  human 
affairs  as  important.  Such,  therefore,  is  the  magnani- 
mous man. 


He,  however,  who  is  deficient  in  magnanimity,  is 
pusillanimous ;  but  he  who  exceeds,  is  proud  and  arro- 
gant. Neither,  however,  do  these  characters  appear  to 
be  bad ;  for  they  are  not  malevolent,  but  wander  from 
the  medium.  For  the  pusillanimous  man,  indeed,  deserv- 
ing good  things,  deprives  himself  of  what  he  deserves ; 
and  appears  to  have  something  depraved,  in  consequence 
of  not  thinking  himself  to  deserve  what  is  good.  He, 
also,  is  ignorant  of  himself ;  for  if  he  were  not,  he  would 
aspire  after  things  of  which  he  is  worthy,  such  things 
being  good.  Such  men,  however,  do  not  appear  to  be 
stupid,  but  rather  to  be  sluggi^.  But  an  opinion  of  this 
kind  seems  to  render  them  worse  ;  for  every  one  desires 
what  is  adapted  to  his  desert.  They,  likewise,  withdraw 
themselves  from  beautiful  actions  and  pursuits,  as  if 
they  were  unworthy  of  them  ;  and  in  a  similar  manner. 


GHAP.  IV. 


ETHICS. 


135 


from  external  goods.  But  the  proud  and  arrogant  are 
stupid,  and  ignorant  of  themselves,  and  this  obviously  ; 
for  they  endeavour  to  obtain  honourable  things,  as  if 
they  deserved  them,  and  afterwards  are  reprobated  by 
others  for  so  doing.  They  also  study  the  ornament  of 
dress,  graceful  deportment,  and  the  like ;  and  diey  wish 
that  their  prosperity  may  be  apparent ;  and  they  speak  of 
themselves,  as  if  they  were  to  be  honoured  on  account  of 
these  things.  Pusillanimity,  however,  is  more  opposed  to 
magnanimity  than  pride  and  arrogance  ;  for  it  more  fre- 
quently occurs,  and  is  a  worse  evil.  Magnanimity  there- 
fore is,  as  we  have  said,  conversant  with  great  honour* 


CHAPTER   IV.. 


It  seems,  however,  that  a  certain  virtue  is  conversant 
with  honour,  as  we  have  before  observed,  which  would 
^pear  to  have  a  similar  relation  to  magnanimity,  that 
liberality  has  to  magnificence;  for  both  these  virtues 
are  remote  from  magnitude,  but  dispose  us  in  such  a 
way  as  is  proper  with  respect  to  things  moderate  and 
small.  But  as  in  the  receiving  and  giving  of  money 
there  are  a  medium,  excess,  and  defect ;  thus,  also,  in 
the  appetition  of  honour,  there  are  the  more  and  the  less 


136 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IV. 


than  IS  proper,  and  whence  it  is  proper,  and  as  it  is  pro- 
per.    For  we  blame  the  ambitious  man,  as  aspiring  after 
honour  more  than  is  proper,  and  whence  it  is  not  proper 
[to  obtain  it] ;  and  we  blame  the  unambitious  man,  as 
not  deliberately  choosing  to  be  honoured  even  for  actions 
that  are  beautiful.     Sometimes,  however,  we  praise  the 
ambitious  man  as  virile,  and  a  lover  of  beautiful  con- 
duct ;  but  the  unambitious  man  as  modest  and  tempe- 
rate, as  we  have  before  observed.     But  it  is  evident,  that 
since  the  lover  of  a  certain  thing  is  said  to  be  so  multi- 
fariously, we  do  not  always  refer  the  lover  of  honour  to 
the  same  thing  ;  but  when  we  praise  him,  it  is  because 
he  desires  honour  more  than  the  vulgar  desire  it,  and 
when  we  blame  him,  it  is  because  he  desires  it  more  than 
IS  proper.     Since,  however,  the  medium  is  anonymous, 
the  extremes  appear  to  contend  for  it  as  for  a  solitary 
place.     But  in  those  things  in  which  there   are   excess 
and  defect,  there  is  also  a  medium.    Men,  also,  aspire 
after  honour  more  or  less  than  is  proper ;    and,  there- 
fore, they  also  aspire  after  it  in  such  a  way  as  is  proper. 
Hence,  this  habit  is  praised,  which  is  an  anonymous  me- 
dium about  honour^  It  appears,  however,  with  reference 
to  ambition,  to  be  a  privation  of  ambition,  and  to  be  am- 
bition with  reference  to  a  privation  of  ambition  ;   and  to 
be  in  a  certain  respect  both  with  reference  to  both.  This 
also  appears  to  be  the  case  in  the  other  virtues.     H^re, 
however,  the  extremes  are  seen  to  be  opposed  to  each 
other,  because  the  middle  is  without  a  name. 


CHAP.  v. 


ETHICS. 


137 


CHAPTER  V. 


But  mildness  is,  indeed,  a  medium  conversant  with 
anger.     Since,  however,  the  virtue  which  conducts  itself 
moderately  with  respect  to  anger,  is  anonymous,  and  this 
is,  also,  nearly  the  case  with  the  extremes,  we  refer  mild- 
ness to  the  medium,  though  it  appears  to  incline  rather 
to  the  deficiency  in  anger,  which  deficiency  is  anonymous. 
But  the  excess  may  be  called  a  certain  angryness.     For 
the  passion  is  anger ;  but  the  causes  of  it  are  many  and 
\  various.     He,  therefore,  who  is  angry  from  causes,  and 
with  persons  with  which  it  is  proper  to  be  angry,  and 
;  farther  still,  in  such  a  manner  as  is  proper,  and  when, 
;  and  as  long  as  it  is  proper,  is  praised.     Hence,  he  will 
be  a  mild  man,  since  mildness  is  praised.     For  the  mild 
man  wishes  to  be  without  perturbation,  and  not  to  be  led 
by  passion ;  but  to  be  angry  as  reason  may  ordain  in  these 
,  things,   and  for  as  long  a  time  as  it  prescribes.     He 
appears,  however,  rather  to  err  in  the  deficiency  with 
respect  to  anger  ;  for  the  mild  man  is  not  given  to  re- 
venge, but  is  rather  inclined  to  pardon.     But  the  defi- 
ciency, whether  it  be  a  certain  lenity,  or  whatever  it  may 
be,  is  blamed.    For  those  who  are  not  angry  from  causes 
for  which  it  is  proper  to  be  angry,  appear  to  be  stupid ; 
and  this  is  also  the  case  with  those  who  are  not  angry  as 


138 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IV* 


it  k  proper,  nor  when  it  is  proper,  nor  with  those  persons 
with  whom  it  is  proper;  since  they  appear  to  be  without 
sensation,  and  to  be  void  of  pain.  And,  also,  since  they 
are  not  angry,  they  are  not  incHned  to  revenge.  For  it 
is  servile  for  a  man  to  lendure  the  insolent  behaviour  of 
others  towards  himself,  and  his  own  relations.  Excess,, 
however,  in  anger  has  a  manifold  subsistence.  For  it  is 
possible  to  be  angry  with  persons  and  from  causes  with 
which  it  is  not  proper,  and  also  more  and  less,  and  for  a 
longer  time  than  is  proper.  All  these  excesses,  how- 
ever, are  not  inherent  in  the  same  person  ;  for  it  is  not 
possible  that  they  should  be.  For  evil  destroys  itself^ 
and  if  it  is  perfect  and  entire  is  intolerable.  Those, 
therefore,  who  are  irascible  rapidly  become  angry,  and 
with  things  and  from  causes  with  which  they  ought  not 
to  be  angry,  and  also  more  than  is  proper ;  but  they 
quickly  cease  to  be  angry,  which  is  a  most  excellent 
thing.  But  this  happens  to  them  because  they  do  not 
restrain  their  anger,  but  return  an  injury  as  soon  as  they 
have  received  it.  Hence  their  anger,  on  account  of  its 
celerity,  is  manifest;  but  afterwards  they  cease  to  be 
angry.  The  extremely  irascible,  however,  are  excessively 
rapid  in  their  anger,  and  are  angry  with  every  thing,  and 
on  every  occasion,  whence,  also,  they  derive  their  appeU 
lation.  But  the  bitterly  angry,  are  with  difficulty  libe- 
rated from  anger,  and  are  angry  for  a  long  time ;  for 
they  detain  their  anger  [from  bursting  forth.]  They 
cease,  however,  to  be  angry  when  they  have  taken 
vengeance  on  those  that  angered  them ;  for  vengeance 
appeases  anger,  producing  pleasure  instead  of  pain.  But 
if  vengeance  does  not  take  place,  they  are  oppressed 
with  a  heavy  burden ;  for  because  the  manner  in  which 
they  are  affected  is  not  apparent,  neither  does  any  one 


CHAP,  V. 


ETHICS. 


13i> 


persuade  them  [to  be  appeased.]     Time,  however,  is  re- 
quisite  for  them  to  concoct  their  anger.     But  men  of 
this  description,  are  most  troublesome  to  themselves,  and 
to  those  who  are  especially  their  friends.     We,  likewise, 
call  those  men  severe  in  their  anger,  who  are  angry  from 
causes  for  which  they  ought  not,  and  in  a  greater  degree, 
and  for  a  longer  time  than  is  proper,  and  who  cannot 
be  appeased  without  revenge  or  punishment.     To  mild- 
ness, however,  we  rather  oppose  the  excess  than  the  de- 
fect ;  for  it  is  more  frequent ;  since  it  is  more  human  to 
revenge  an  injury.     Severe  men,  also,  are  worse  for  the 
purpose  of  association.     But  that  which  we  before  ob- 
served, is  also  manifest  from  what  we  now  say.     For 
it  is  not  easy  to  define  how,  and  with  what  persons,  and 
from  what  causes,  and  for  how  long  a  time,  a  man  shoutd 
be  angry,  and  also  to  what  extent  he  may  be  so  rightly, 
or  erroneously.     For  he  who  transgresses  in  a  small  de- 
gree is  not  blamed,  whether  he  inclines  to  the  more,  or 
to  the  less;  since  we  sometimes  praise  those  that  are 
deficient,  and  call  them  mild ;  and  sometimes  we  call 
those  who  are  severely  angry,  virile,  as  being  men  who 
are  able  to  govern  others.     It  is  not,  therefore,  easy  to 
explain  in  words,  the  quantity  and  mode  of  transgression 
which  is  blameable  ;  for  the  judgment  of  this  is  situated 
in  particulars,  and  in  sense.     Thus  much,  however,  is 
evident,  that  the  middle  habit  indeed  is  laudable,  accord- 
ing to  which  we  are  angry  with  those  persons,  and  from 
those  causes  that  it  is  proper  to  be  so,  and  in  such  a  man- 
nei  as  is  proper, t and  every  thing  else  of  the  like  kind. 
But  the  excesses  and  defects  are  blameable.     And  these,  ( 
indeed,  if  they  deviate  but  a  little  from  the  medium,  are 
blameable  in  a  small  degree ;  if  more,  in  a  greater  de- 


140 


THE  NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IV. 


gree ;  and  if  much,  they  are  very  blameable.  It  is 
evident,  therefore,  that  the  middle  habit  must  be  retained. 
And  thus  we  have  discussed  the  habits  pertaining  to 
anger. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


In  the  associations,  however,  of  men  with  each  other, 
and  in  the  communication  of  words  and  deeds,  some 
persons  appear  to  be  placid  and  obsequious,  who  praise 
every  thing  with  a  view  to  the  pleasure  [of  those  with 
whom  they  associate,]  and  are  not  their  opponents  in 
any  thing,  in  consequence  of  fancying  that  they  ought 
not,  by  any  means,  to  offend  them.  Others,  on  the  con- 
trary, are  adverse  to  their  associates  in  every  thing,  and 
are  not  at  all  concerned  about  whom  they  may  offend ; 
and  these  are  called  morose  and  litigious.  That  the  above- 
mentioned  habits,  therefore,  are  blameable,  is  not  imma- 
nifest;  and,  also,  that  the  medium  between  these  is 
laudable,  according  to  which  a  man  admits  what  he  ought, 
and  as  he  ought,  and  is  in  a  similar  manner  indignant. 
No  name,  however,  is  given  to  this  medium ;  but  it  seems 
especially  to  resemble  friendship.     For  he  who  subsists 


CHAP.  VL 


ETHICS. 


141 


according  to  this  middle  habit,  is  such  a  one  as  we  wish 
a  worthy  friend  to  be,  if  he  also  assumes,  in  conjunction 
with  it,  a  love  resembling  filial  love.     But  it  differs  from 
friendship,  because  it  is  without  passion  and  a  love  re- 
sembling  filial  love,  towards  those  upon  whom  it  is  exer- 
cised.     For  it  does  not  admit  every  thing  in  such   a 
manner  as  is  fit,  in  consequence  of  loving  or  hating,  but 
from  a  habit  of  approving  or  reprehending  properly.  • 
For  he  who  possesses  this  habit,  will  be  similarly  affable 
to  those  whom  he  does  not,  and  to  those  whom  he  does 
know,  to  his  associates,  and  to  those  with  whom  he  does 
not  associate,  except  that  to  each  of  these  his  affability 
will  be  appropriate.    For  it  is  not  fit  similarly  to  pay  atten-  f 
tion,  or  give  pain,  to  familiars  and  strangers.     We  have,  \ 
therefore,  universally  shown,  that  he  will  conduct  himself 
in  his  associations  in  such  a  manner  as  is  proper ;  but 
referring  his  actions  to  the  beautiful  in  conduct  and  the 
useful,  his  aim  will  be  neither  to  give  pain  to,  nor  delight 
others,  by  obsequiousness.     For  this  virtue  appears  to  be 
conversant  with  the  pains  and  pleasures  which  take  place 
in  associations.     But  when  the  possessor  of  this  virtue 
cannot  delight  his  associates  worthily,  or  without  injuring 
them,   he  is  indignant,  and  deliberately  chooses  to  give 
them  pain,  [rather  than  to  injure  them  by  obsequious- 
ness.]    He,  also,  will  not  permit  another  person  to  be 
obsequious  to  him  in  those  things  which  are  attended 
with  no  small  disgrace,  or  injury,  and  the  contrary  to 
which  produces  but  little  pain  j  but  he  will  rather  be  in- 
dignant.    He  will,    likewise,   associate  differently  with 
those  who  are  in  a  dignified  situation,  and  any  casual  per- 
sons, and  with  those  who  are  more  or  less  known  to  him. 
in  a  si^iilar  manner,  also,  in  other  differences,  he  will 
attribute  to  every  one  what  it  is  fit  for  each  person  to  | 


142 


THE   NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IV, 


CHAP.  vn. 


ETHICS. 


143 


receive.  And  he  will,  indeed,  choose  to  give  delight  to 
others,  as  a  thing  of  itself  eligible,  but  will  cautiously 
avoid  giving  them  pain.  And  with  respect  to  events,  if 
they  are  greater,  he  will  follow  them ;  I  mean,  he^wjU 
ioUgsLthe  beautiful  in  conduct  and  the  advantageous ; 
and  for  the  sake  of  great  pleasure  afterwards,  he  will 
give  jjainJaja^small  degree.  Such,  therefore,  is  the 
middle  character,  but  fie  is  without  a  name.  With  re- 
spect, however,  to  those  who  delight  others,  he  who  aims 
at  pleasing,  and  nothing  else,  may  be  called  accommodat- 
ing ;  but  he  who  does  this  in  order  that  he  may  derive 
some  pecuniary  advantage,  or  such  things  as  are  procured 
through  money,  is  a  flatterer.  And  he  who  is  indignant 
with  every  thing,  we  have  already  said,  is  morose  and 
litigious.  The  extremes,  however,  appear  to  be  opposed 
to  each  other,  because  the  medium  is  anonymous* 


CHAPTER  VII. 


The  medium  of  arrogance,  also,  is  nearly  conversant 
with  the  same  things ;  but  this  medium,  likewise,  is  ano- 
nymous. It  will  not,  however,  be  foreign  from  the 
purpose  to  discuss  such-like  habits  j  for  by  discusstag 


each  particular  we  shall  know  more  of  what  pertains  to 
manners,  and  shall  be  persuaded  that  the  virtues  are 
media,  when  we  understand  what  takes  place  in  all  of 
them.  With  respect,  therefore,  to  the  associations  of 
men  with  each  other,  we  have  already  spoken  concern- 
ing  those  who  associate  with  a  view  to  pleasure  and  pain. 
But  let  us  now  consider  those  who  are  men  of  veracity 
or  falsehood,  alike  in  words  and  deeds,  and  dissimula- 
tion.  The  arrogant  man,  therefore,  appears  to  be  one 
who  pretends  to  things  of  a  splendid  nature  which  he 
does  not  possess,  or  to  such  as  are  more  splendid  than 
he  possesses.  The  dissembler,  on  the  contrary,  denies 
what  he  possesses,  or  makes  it  to  be  less  than  it  is.  But 
the  middle  character,  forming  a  just  opinion  of  himself, 
is  a  man  of  veracity  in  his  life,  and  in  his  words,  acknow- 
ledging  that  he  possesses  what  he  does  possess,  and 
neither  more  nor  less.  Each  of  these,  however,  may 
be  done  for  the  sake  of  something,  or  for  the  sake  of 
nothing.  But  such  as  a  man  is,  such  also  will  be  his  ^^ 
words  and  actions,  and  such  also  will  be  his  life,  unless 
he  acts  for  the  sake  of  something.  Of  itself,  however, 
falsehood  is  bad  and  blameable ;  but  truth  is  beautiful 
and  laudable.  Hence,  the  man  of  veracity,  indeed,  be- 
ing a  middle  character,  is  laudable;  but  of  the  two 
characters  who  want  veracity,  both  indeed  are  blame- 
able  ;  but  the  arrogant  man  more  than  the  other.  We 
shall,  however,  speak  concerning  each  of  these,  and  in 
the  first  place  concerning  the  man  of  veracity.  For  w^e 
do  not  speak  of  the  man  who  has  veracity  in  compacts, 
and  in  things  which  pertain  to  injustice  or  justice ;  for 
this  will  belong  to  another  virtue ;  but  we  speak  of  him 
.  who,  though  nothing  of  this  kind  should  occur,  is  a  man 
of  veracity  bo^h  in  words  and  in  his  life,  because  he  is 


X 


144 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IV. 


such  from  habit.     But  such  a  one  will  appear  to  be  a 
worthy  man.     For  he  who  is  a  lover  of  truth,  and  who 
speaks  the  truth  in  things  in  which  it  is  of  no  consequence 
whether  he  does  or  not,  will  in  a  still  greater  degree 
speak  the  truth  in  things  in  which  it  is  of  consequence. 
For  he  will  avoid  what  is  false  as  base,  and  which  also 
he  will  of  itself  avoid  ;  but  such  a   man  is  worthy  of 
praise.     He  will,   however,  [if  it  should  be  requisite  to 
deviate  from  the  medium]  rather  incline  to  what  is  less 
than  the  truth ;  for  this  appears  to  be  more  elegant,  be- 
cause excesses  are  troublesome  and  invidious.     But  he 
who  pretends  that  he  possesses  things  of  greater  conse- 
quence than  he  really  does,  and  this  for  the  sake  of 
nothing  else,  resembles  indeed  the  depraved  man ;  for 
otherwise  he  would  not  be  delighted  with  falsehood ;  yet 
he  seems  to  be  rather  a  vain  than  a  bad  man.     If,  how- 
ever, he  does  this  for  the  sake  of  something,  such  as 
glory  or  honour,  he  is  not  very  blameable,  as  the  arro- 
gant man  is ;  but  if  he  does  it  for  the  sake  of  money, 
or  of  things  which  pertain  to  money,  he  is  more  base. 
But  the  arrogant  man  is  not  characterized  by  capacity  or 
power,  but  by  deliberate  choice ;  for   he   is   arrogant 
according  to  habit,  and  because  he  is  such  a  character. 
Thus  also  with  respect  to  the  man  who  is  without  vera- 
city ;  one  delights  in  falsehood  itself,  but  another  delights 
m   it  in   consequence  of  aspiring  after  glory  or   gain, 
/rhose,  therefore,  who  are  arrogant  for  the  sake  of  glory, 
pretend  to  the  possession  of  those  things  for  which  men 
are  praised,  or  proclaimed  to  be  happy ;  but  those  who 
are  arrogant  for  the  sake  of  gain,  pretend  to  be  those 
characters  with  which  others  are  delighted,  and  of  which 
the  non-possession  may  be  latent ;  such  as  to  be  a  physi- 
cian, or  a  prophet,  or  a  wise  man.     On  this  account. 


CHAP.  VII. 


ETHICS. 


145 


most  men  pretend  and  arrogate  to  themselves  things  of 
this  kind ;  for  they  possess  the  above-mentioned  qualities. 
Dissemblers,  or  the  ironical,  however,  who  speak  less 
than  the  truth,  appear  indeed  to  be  more  elegant  in  their 
manners  ;  for  they  do  not  seem  to  speak  for  the  sake  of 
gain,   but   in   consequence   of   avoiding   fastidiousness. 
But  these  persons  especially  deny  that  they  possess  things 
of  an  illustrious  nature ;  as  also  Socrates  did.     Those, 
however,  who  pretend  that  they  do  not  possess  small 
things,  and  which  are  obvious,  are  called  crafty  or  delicate 
deceivers,  and  are  very  contemptible  men.     Sometimes, 
also,  this  species  of  dissimulation  appears  to  be  arro- 
gance ;  such,  for  instance,  as  the  garments  of  the  Lace- 
daemonians.    For  excess  and  very  great  deficiency,  alike 
pertain  to  arrogance.     But  those  who  moderately  use 
irony,  and  are  ironical  in  things  which  are  not  very  much 
known  and  obvious,  appear  to  be  elegant  men.     The 
arrogant  man,  however,  seems  to  be  opposed  to  the  maa 
of  veracity  5  for  he  is  a  w^orse  character. 


Arist. 


VOL.  II. 


X 


/ 


146 


THE   NICOMACHEAK 


BOOK  IV, 


GHAP,  vni. 


ETHICS* 


147 


CHAFrER  viii. 

SiNCt,  however,  there  is  a  certain  relaxation  in  Hfe,  and 
rest  from  labour,  and  since  this  remission  is  accompanied 
with  jesting,  it  appears  that  here  also  there  is  a  certam 
elegant  method  of  conversation,  in  which  such  thmgs 
are  said  as  are  proper,  and  are  delivered  in  a  proper  man- 
ner ;  and  similarly  with  respect  to  hearing  what  it  is  pro- 
per  to  hear,  and  hearing  it  in  such  a  way  as  is  fit.     But 
there  is  a  difference  in  speaking  to  some  persons  rather 
than  to  others,  and  in  hearing  some  things  rather  than 
others     It  is  evident,  however,  that  in  these  things  also 
there  is  an  excess  and  deficiency  with  respect  to  the  me- 
,  dium.    Those,  therefore,  who  exceed  in  the  ridiculous, 
appear  to  be  scurrilous  and  troublesome ;  for  they  en- 
tirely affect  the  ridiculous,   and  aim  more  at  excitmg 
laughter,  than  at  speaking  in  a  becoming  manner,  and  not 
civL  pain  to  the  object  of  their  ridicule.     But  those 
who  do  not  say  themselves  any  thing  ridiculous,  and  are 
indignant  with  those  who  do.  appear  to  be  rustic  and  n- 
^  corous.    Those,  however,  who  jest  elegantly,  are  called 
facetious  and  versatile,  as  being  of  a  flexible  genius ;  for 
.  of  manners  there  appear  to  be  such-like  motions.    But 
as  a  judgment  is  formed  of  bodies  from  motions,  so  like- 


\vise  of  manners.  Since,  however,  there  is  a  redundancy 
of  the  ridiculous,  and  most  men  delight  in  jests  and  ca- 
v'dling  more  than  is  proper  ;  the  scurrilous  also  are  called 
versatile,  as  being  polite  and  pleasant  men.  But  that  they 
differ,  and  in  no  small  degree,  is  evident  from  what  has 
been  said. 

To  the  middle  habit,  also,  dexterity  is  appropriate.  But 
it  is  the  province  of  a  dexterous  man  to  say  and  hear  such 
things,  as  are  adapted  to  a  worthy  and  liberal  man ;  for 
ithere  are  certain  things  which  it  becomes  such  a  one  to 
'say  and  hear  in  jest.     And  the  jesting  of  a  liberal  differs 
from  that  of  a  servile  man,  and  again,  the  jesting  of  an 
erudite  differs  from  that  of  an  inerudite  man.     But  the 
truth  of  this  may  be  seen,  both  from  ancient  and  modem 
comedies ;  for  in  the  former,  the  ridiculous  consisted  in 
obscenity ;  but  in  the  latter,  the  suspicion  of  obscenity 
rather  excited  laughter.     These  things,  however,  differ  in 
no  small  degree  with  respect  to  the  decorous  and  ele- 
gant.    Whether,   therefore,  is  he  who  ridicules  well  to 
be  defined  by  this,  that  he  says  what  it  becomes  a  liberal 
man  to  say  ?  or  by  this,  that  he  does  not  pain,  or  that 
he  delights  the  hearer  ?     Or  shall  we  say  that  a  thing  of 
this  kind  is  indefinite?     For  a  different  thing  is  odious 
and  pleasing  to  a  diiferent  person.     He  will   also  hear 
things  of  this  kind,  [viz.  things  ./hich  are  adapted  to  a 
worthy  and  liberal  man  ;]  for  such  things  as  a  man  en- 
dures to  hear,  such  also  he  appears  to  do.     He  will  nor, 
therefore,  do  [or  say]  every  thing  ;  for  cavilling  is  a  cer- 
tain invective.     Legislators,  however,  forbid  certain  in- 
vectives ;  and  perhaps  it  would  be  proper  that  they  should 
also    forbid  cavilling.      The  elegant  and  liberal  man, 
therefore,  will  so  conduct  himself,  as  if  he  were  a  law 


148 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IV* 


to  himself.    Hence,  the  middle  character  is  a  man  of  thrs 
description,  whether  he  is  to  be  denominated  dexterous 
or  versatile.    But  the  scurrilous  man  is  vanquished  by  the 
ridiculous,  and  neither  spares  himself,  nor  others,  if  he 
can  excite  laughter.   He  likewise  says  such  thmgs,  as  the 
elegant  man  would  never  say ;  and  some  things  that  he 
says,  the  elegant  man  would  not  even  endure  to  hear. 
The  rustic  man,  however,  is  useless  with  respect  to  such 
conversations  5  for  contributing  nothing,  he  is  mdignant 
with  all  of  them.     But  relaxation  and  jesting  appear  to 
be  necessary  to  the  life  of  man.     There  are,  therefore, 
the  above-mentioned  three  media  in  life  ;  but  all  of  them 
are  conversant  with  the  communion  of  certam  words  and 
actions      They  differ,  however,  because  one  of  them  is 
conversant  with  truth,  but   the  others  are  conversant 
with  the  delectable.     But  of  the  media  which  pertain  to 
pleasure,  one  indeed  is  conversant  with  jests,  but  the 
other  with  the  associations  which  belong  to  the  rest  ot 
life. 


CHAP.  IX. 


rTHTC55, 


149 


CHAPTER  IX. 


With  respect  to  shame,  it  is  not  fit  to  speak  of  It  as 
of  a  certain  virtue ;  for  it  resembles  passion  more  than 
habit.  It  is  defined,  therefore,  to  be  a  certain  dread  of  • 
infamy ;  and,  similar  to  fear,  it  is  exercised  about  dread- 
ful things.  For  those  who  are  under  the  influence  of 
shame  become  red,  or  blush ;  but  those  who  have  the 
fear  of  death  upon  them  are  pale.  Hence  both  these  ap- 
pear to  be  in  a  certain  respect  corporeal ;  which  seems 
rather  to  belong  to  passion  than  to  habit.  This  passion, 
however,  is  not  adapted  to  every  age,  but  to  youth.  For 
we  think  it  requisite  that  young  persons  should  be  bash- 
ful, because  they  commit  many  errors  in  consequence  of 
living  from  passion,  but  are  restrained  from  the  commis- 
sion of  them  by  shame.  And  we  praise  indeed  bashful 
young  men;  but  no  one  praises  a  bashful  old  man.  For 
we  think  that  he  ought  not  to  do  any  thing  for  which  he 
should  be  ashamed  ;  for  neither  does  shame  pertain  to  a 
worthy  man,  since  it  is  produced  by  bad  conduct ;  for 
the  things  which  cause  shame  are  not  to  be  done.  But 
it  makes  no  difference,  whether  some  things  are  in  reality 
base,  but  others  only  base  according  to  opinion  ;  for  nei- 
ther of  these  are  to  be  done ;  so  that  shanie  is  not  to  be 
admitted.     A  thing  of  this  kind  also,  viz.  to  do  some- 


\50 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS.         BOOK  IV* 


thing  base,  k  the  province  of  a  bad  man.  But  for  a  man 
to  be  so  disposed,  as  to  be  ashamed  if  he  should  do  any 
thing  that  is  base,  and  to  fancy  himself  on  this  account 
to  be  a  worthy  character,  is  absurd.  For  shame  pertains 
to  voluntary  actions  ;  but  a  viorthy  man  never  volunta- 
rily acts  basely.  Shame,  however,  from  hypothesis,  may 
seem  to  be  good ;  for  if  a  worthy  man  should  act  basely, 
he  would  be  ashamed.  But  this  does  not  pertain  to  the 
virtues ;  nor  if  impudence  is  a  bad  thing,  and  not  to  be 

ashamed  when  acting  basely,  will  it  be  at  all  a  more  wor- 

thy  thing,  to  be  ashamed  when  perforniing  base  deeds  ? 

Neither  is  continence  a  virtue,  but  a  certain  mixt  thing. 

This,  however,  we  shall  discuss  hcreaftei-.     But  let  us 

now  speak  concerning  justice, 


THE. 


NICOMACHEAN    ETHICS. 


P>OOK    V.     V 


4A. 


ii 


CHAPTER  I. 


Now,  therefore,  let  us  direct  our  attention  to  justice  and 
injustice ;  and  consider  v^^ith  what  kind  of  actions  they 
are  conversant;  what  kind  of  medium  justice  is,  and  of 
what  things  the  just  is  the  medium.  But  let  our  survey 
be  made  according  to  the  same  method  as  the  preceding 
discussions.  We  see,  therefore,  that  all  men  are  willing 
to  call  that  kind  of  habit  justice,  through  which  we 
practise  just  things,  [or  are  inclined  to  the  works  of  jus- 
tice,] and  through  which  we  act  justly,  and  wish  what  is 
just.  And  after  the  same  manner  injustice  is  that  habit 
through  which  men  act  unjustly,  and  wish  what  is  uii- 


152 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  V. 


just.  Hence,  these  things  must  be  first  adumbrated  by 
us ;  5ince  there  is  not  the  same  mode  of  subsistence  in 
the  sciences,  in  powers,  and  in  habits.  For  there  is  the 
same  power  indeed,  and  the  same  science  of  contraries  ; 
but  there  is  not  the  same  habit  of  contraries.  Thus, 
for  instance,  contrary  operations  are  not  performed  by 
heahh,  but  those  only  which  are  salubrious  ;  for  we  say 
that  a  man  walks  in  a  healthy  manner,  when  he  walks  in 
such  a  way  as  a  healthy  man  walks.  Frequently,  there- 
fore, a  contrary  habit  is  known  from  a  contrary  habit ; 
but  frequently  habits  are  known  from  their  subjects.  For 
if  a  good  habit  of  body  is  apparent,  a  bad  habit  of  body 
will  also  be  apparent.  And  from  things  which  produce 
a  good  habit  of  body,  this  good  habit  will  be  known, 
and  from  this  good  habit  its  producing  causes  will  be 
known.  For  if  a  good  habit  of  body  is  a  density  of  the 
flesh,  a  bad  habit  of  body  will  necessarily  be  a  rarity  of 
the  flesh ;  and  that  which  produces  a  good  habit  of  body, 
will  be  productive  of  density  in  the  flesh.  It  follows, 
however,  for  the  most  part,  that  if  one  contrary  is  pre- 
dicated multifariously,  the  other  also  will  be  multi- 
fariously predicated ;  '  as,  if  the  just,  so  likewise 
the  unjust.  But  justice  and  injustice  are  predicated 
multifariously,  though,  through  the  proximity  of  their 
homonymy,  this  is  latent;  nor  is  it  more  apparent,* 
as  is  the  case  in  those  things  which  are  remote.* 
For  the  difference  according  to  idea  or  form  is  great. 
Thus,    for   instance,   xT^eis,    clavk,  is  predicated  ho- 

'  This  dialectic  precept  is  accurately  discussed  by  Aristotle  in  the 
first  book  of  his  Topics. 

*  Viz.   When  a  name  signifies  many  things,  very  distant  from 
each  other,  then  it  is  manifest  that  it  is  predicated  multifariously. 


CHAP.  I. 


ETHICS. 


153 


monymously ;  for  it  signifies  both  that  part  which 
IS  under  the  neck  of  animals,  and  that  by  which  gates 
are  shut,  [viz.  a  key.]  We  must  consider,  therefore, 
in  how  many  ways  an  unjust  man  is  denominated.  But 
it  appears  that  he  is  an  unjust  man  who  acts  illegally,  and 
he  who  takes  to  himself  more  of  external  goods  than  he 
ought,  [or  who  is  avaricious,]  and  also  he  who  is  une- 
qual [i.  e.  who  takes  to  himself  less  of  evils  than  is  equi- 
table ;]  so  that  it  is  evident  that  he  will  be  a  just  man 
who  acts  legally,  and  he  who  is  equal  or  equitable.  The  j  > 
just,  therefore,  will  be  both  the  legal  and  the  equal ;  \/ 
but  the  unjust  will  be  the  illegal  and  the  unequal.  Since, 
however,  the  unjust  man  is  avaricious,  he  will  be  con- 
versant with  good,  yet  not  with  every  kind  of  good,  but 
with  that  in  which  there  is  prosperous  and  adverse  for- 
tune ;  and  which  is  indeed  simply  always  good,  but  to  a 
certain  person  not  always.  But  men  pray  for  and  pur- 
sue this  good,  though  they  ought  not.  For  they  should 
pray,  indeed,  that  things  which  are  simply  good  [such  as 
riches,  &;c.]  may  also  be  good  to  them  ;  but  they  should 
choose  such  things  as  are  good  to  their  possessor,  [such 
as  virtue  and  wisdom.]  The  unjust  man,  however,  does 
not  always  choose  that  which  is  more,  but  in  things  which 
are  simply  evil  he  chooses  the  less.  But  because  a  less 
evil  appears  in  a  certain  respect  to  be  good,  and  of  what 
is  good,  there  is  a  desire  of  possessing  more  of  it  than  is 
equitable,  on1:his  account  the  unjust  man  appears  to  be 
avaricious.  He  is  also  unequal,  and  acts  illegally ;  for 
this  very  thing  the  acting  illegally,  or  inequality,  com- 
prehends all  injustice,  and  is  common  to  all  injustice. 
Since,  however,  he  who  acts  illegally  is  unjust,  but  he 
who  acts  legally  is  just,  it  is  evident  that  every  thing 
which  is  legal  is  in  a  certain  respect  just.     For  the  things 


152 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  V. 


just.  Hence,  these  things  must  be  first  adumbrated  by 
us ;  §ince  there  is  not  the  same  mode  of  subsistence  in 
the  sciences,  in  powers,  and  in  habits.  For  there  is  the 
same  power  indeed,  and  the  same  science  of  contraries ; 
but  there  is  not  the  same  habit  of  contraries.  Thus, 
for  instance,  contrary  operations  are  not  performed  by 
heahh,  but  those  only  which  are  salubrious  ;  for  we  say 
that  a  man  walks  in  a  healthy  manner,  when  he  walks  in 
such  a  way  as  a  healthy  man  walks.  Frequently,  there- 
fore, a  contrary  habit  is  known  from  a  contrary  habit ; 
but  frequently  habits  are  known  from  their  subjects.  For 
if  a  good  habit  of  body  is  apparent,  a  bad  habit  of  body 
will  also  be  apparent.  And  from  things  which  pi'oduce 
a  good  habit  of  body,  this  good  habit  will  be  known, 
and  from  this  good  habit  its  producing  causes  will  be 
known.  For  if  a  good  habit  of  body  is  a  density  of  the 
flesh,  a  bad  habit  of  body  will  necessarily  be  a  rarity  of 
the  flesh ;  and  that  which  produces  a  good  habit  of  body, 
will  be  productive  of  density  in  the  flesh.  It  follows, 
however,  for  the  most  part,  that  if  one  contrary  is  pre- 
dicated multifariously,  the  other  also  will  be  multi- 
fariously predicated ;  '  as,  if  the  just,  so  likewise 
the  unjust.  But  justice  and  injustice  are  predicated 
multifariously,  though,  through  the  proximity  of  their 
homonymy,  this  is  latent;  nor  is  it  more  apparent,' 
as  is  the  case  in  those  things  which  are  remote.* 
For  the  difference  according  to  idea  or  form  is  great. 
Thus,    for  instance,   xXe*^,    clavk^  is  predicated  ho- 

'  This  dialectic  precept  Is  accurately  discussed  by  Aristotle  in  the 
first  book  of  his  Topics. 

*  Viz.   When  a  name  signifies  many  things,  very  distant  from 
Cich  other,  then  it  is  manifest  that  it  is  predicated  multifariously. 


CHAP.  I. 


ETHICS. 


153 


monymously ;  for  it  signifies  both  that  part  which 
IS  under  the  neck  of  animals,  and  that  by  which  gates 
are  shut,  [viz.  a  key.]  We  must  consider,  therefore, 
in  how  many  ways  an  unjust  man  is  denominated.  But 
it  appears  that  he  is  an  unjust  man  who  acts  illegally,  and 
he  who  takes  to  himself  more  of  external  goods  than  he 
ought,  [or  who  is  avaricious,]  and  also  he  who  is  une- 
qual [i.  e.  who  takes  to  himself  less  of  evils  than  is  equi- 
table ;]  so  that  it  is  evident  that  he  will  be  a  just  man 
who  acts  legally,  and  he  who  is  equal  or  equitable.  The  j  / 
just,  therefore,  will  be  both  the  legal  and  the  equal ; !/ 
but  the  unjust  will  be  the  illegal  and  the  unequal.  Since, 
however,  the  unjust  man  is  avaricious,  he  will  be  con- 
versant with  good,  yet  not  with  every  kind  of  good,  but 
with  that  in  which  there  is  prosperous  and  adverse  for- 
tune ;  and  which  is  indeed  simply  always  good,  but  to  a 
certain  person  not  always.  But  men  pray  for  and  pur- 
sue this  good,  though  they  ought  not.  For  they  should 
pray,  indeed,  that  things  which  are  simply  good  [such  as 
riches,  &c.]  may  also  be  good  to  them  ;  but  they  should 
choose  such  things  as  are  good  to  their  possessor,  [such 
as  virtue  and  wisdom.]  The  unjust  man,  however,  does 
not  always  choose  that  which  is  more,  but  in  things  which 
are  simply  evil  he  chooses  the  less.  But  because  a  less 
evil  appears  in  a  certain  respect  to  be  good,  and  of  what 
is  good,  there  is  a  desire  of  possessing  more  of  it  than  is 
equitable,  on  1:his  account  the  unjust  man  appears  to  be 
avaricious.  He  is  also  unequal,  and  acts  illegally ;  for 
this  very  thing  the  acting  illegally,  or  inequality,  com- 
prehends all  injustice,  and  is  common  to  all  injustice. 
Since,  however,  he  who  acts  illegally  is  unjust,  but  he 
who  acts  legally  is  just,  it  is  evident  that  every  thing 
which  is  legal  is  in  a  certain  respect  just.     For  the  things 


154 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  V. 


V^hich  are  defined  by  the  legislative  science  are  legal ;  and 
we  say  that  each  of  these  is  just ;  but  the  laws  speak 
about  every  thing,  looking  either  to  that  which  is  advan- 
tageous in  common  to  all  men,  or  to  the  best  of  men,  or 
to  those  in  authority,  and  this  either  according  to  virtue, 
/cr  some  other  mode,  Ilencc,  after  one  manner  we  call 
Athose  things  just,  which  are  capable  of  producing  and 
X [preserving  felicity,  and  the  parts  of  it,  by  political  com- 
munion.  The  law,  however,  ordains  that  the  works  of 
the  brave  man  should  be  dt)iic,  such  as  that  a  soldier 
shall  not  leave  his  rank,  nor  fly  from  the  enemy,  nor 
throw  away  his  arms ;  and  likewise  that  the  works  of  the 
temperate  man  shall  be  done,  such  as  not  to  commit  adul- 
tery, nor  behave  with  insolent  wantonness  ;  and  also  those 
of  the  mild  man,  such  as  not  to  strike  another  person^ 
nor  defame  any  one.  And  the  law  ordains  similarly  with 
resi^ect  to  the  other  virtues  and  vices,  partly  commanc^ng, 
and  partly  forbidding ;  the  law  indeed,  doing  this  rightly^ 
which  is  rightly  framed,  but  that  which  is  rashly  framed, 
erroneously.  This  justice,  therefore,  [i.  e.  legal  justice] 
is  indeed  a  perfect  virtue,  yet  not  simply,  but  with  refer- 
ence to  another  thing.  And  on  this  account  justice  fre- 
quently appears  to  be  the  best  of  the  virtues  ;  nor  is  ei- 
ther the  evening  or  the  morning  star  so  admirable.  We 
likewise  say  proverbially.  Every  virtue  is  comprehended 
in  justice.  And  legal  justice  is  especially  a  perfect  vir- 
tue, because  it  is  the  use  of  perfect  virtue.  But  it  is 
perfect,  because  he  who  possesses  it,  is  also  able  to  employ 
virtue  towards  another  person,  and  not  only  towards 
himself.  For  many  persons  are  indeed  able  to  employ 
virtue  in  their  own  affairs,  but  not  in  the  affairs  of  others. 
And  on  this  account  it  appears  to  have  been  well  said  by 
Bias,  that  dominion  shoves  the  man ;  for  he  who  governs 


CHAP.  I. 


ETHICS, 


155 


has  relation  to  another  person,  and   is   now  conversant 
with  the  communion  of  life.     For  the  very  same  reason 
also,  justice  alone,  of  all  the  virtues,  appears  to  be  a  fa-f 
reign  good,  because  it  has  reference  to  another  person ;[ 
since  it  performs  what  is  advantageous  to  another,  viz.=] 
either  to  a  ruler,  or  to  the  community  at  large.     He,* 
therefore,  is  the  worst  of  characters,  who  acts  depra- 
vedly  both  towards  himself  and  towards  his  friends  ;  but 
he  is  the  best  of  men,  not  who  acts  virtuously  towards 
himself,  but  towards  another  person ;  for  this  is  a  diffi- 
cult work.     This  justice,  therefore,  is  not  a  part  of  vir- 
tue, but  is  universal  virtue ;  nor  is  the  injustice  which  is 
contrary  to  it  a  part  of  vice,  but  universal  vice.     What 
the  difference,  however,  is  between  virtue  and  this  jus- 
tic^,  is  evident  from  what  has  been  already  said ;  for  it  is 
indeed  the  same  with  it,  but  not  essentially.     For  so  far, 
indeed,  as  it  has  reference  to  another  person,  it  is  jus- 
tice ;  but  so  far  as  it  is  a  habit  of  a  certain  description,  it 
is  simply  virtue. 


156 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  V. 


/ 


/ 


CHAPTER  II. 


/ 


v/  We  investigate,  however,  that  justice  which  is  a  part  of 
virtue ;  for  there  is,  as  we  say,  such  a  justice  ;  and  in  a 
similar  manner  we  investigate  the  injustice  which  is  a  part 
of  vice.  But  that  there  is  such  a  justice  is  indicated  by 
this,  that  he  who  energizes  according  to  other  depravities, 
acts  unjustly,  indeed,  but  does  not  assume  to  himself  ' 
more  of  external  good  than  he  ought ;  such,  for  instance, 
as  the  man  who  throws  away  his  shield  through  timidity, 
or  he  who  speaks  ill  of  another  from  asperity,  or  who 
does  not  give  pecuniary  assistance  to  another,  through 
illibcrality.  But  when  he  assumes  to  himself  more  than 
he  ought,  he  frequently  is  not  vicious  according  to  any  ' 
one  of  such  vices,  nor  yet  according  to  all  the  vices,  but 
according  to  a  certain  depravity  ;  for  we  blame  him,  and 
for  injustice.  There  is,  therefore,  a  certain  other  injus^ 
tice,  as  being  a  certain  part  of  universal  injustice,  and  a 
certain  something  unjust,  which  is  a  part  of  the  whole  of 
the  unjust  that  is  contrary  to  law.  Farther  still,  if  one 
•person,  indeed,  should  commit  adultery  for  the  sake  of 
gain,  and  should  receive  money  for  so  doing,  but  ano* 
ther  should  give  money  and  sustain  an  injury  in  his  pro- 
perty, by  doing  it,  in  consequence  of  being  under  the 


CHAP*  II. 


ETHICS. 


157 


influence  of  [strong]  desire,  the  latter,  indeed,  will  ra- 
ther  appear  to  be  intemperate,  than  one  who  assumes  to 
himself  more  than  he  ought,  but  the  former  will  be  un- 
just,  but  jiot  intemperate ;  and  it  is  evident  that  he  will 
not,  because  he  acts  with  a  view  to  gain.     Again,  in  all 
other  unjust  deeds,  there  is  always  a  reference  to  a  cer- 
tain  depravity.     Thus,  if  a  man  commits  adultery,  the 
reference  is  to  intemperance ;  if  he  abandons  his  post  in 
battle,  the  reference  is  to  timidity  ;  but  if  he  strikes  ano- 
ther person,  to  anger.     If,  however,  he  obtains  money 
by  it,  the  reference  is  to  no  other  depravity,   than  to  in- 
justice.    Hence,  it  is  evident  that  there  is  a  certain  other 
'injustice  which  ranks  as  a  part,  besides  universal  injur- 
tice,  and  which  is  synonymous  with  it ;  because  the  de- 
finition of  each  is  in  the  same  genus.     For  both  possess 
their  power  in  a  reference  to  another  pei-son.     But  the 
injustice  which  ranks  as  a  part  is  conversant  with  honour, 
or  riches,  or  safety,  or  if  all  these  could   be  compre- 
hended in  one  name,  it  is  conversant  with  them  ;  and  this 
on  account  of  the  pleasure  which  results  from  gain.  Uni- 
versal injustice,  however,  is  conversant  with  all  such  things, 
as  a  worthy  man  is  conversant  with  [in  the  exercise  of 
justice].     That  there  are  many  kinds  of  justice,  there^ 
fore,  and  that  there  is  a  certain  justice  which  is  different 
from  universal  virtue,  is  evident.     What  it  is,  however, 
and  what  kind  of  a  thing  it  is,  must  be  explained. 

i  The  unjust,  therefore,  has  been  distinguished  by  us 
into  the  illegal  and  the  unequal ;  and  the  just  into  the  le- 

.^al  and  the  equal.  But  the  prior  injustice  of  which  we 
have  spoken  subsists  according  to  the  illegal.  Since, 
liowever,  the  illegal  and  the  unequal  are  not  the  same, 
but  different,  as  a  part  with  reference  to  a  whole  j  for 


158 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  Vi 


every  thing  unequal  is  illegal,  but  not  every  thing  which 
Is  illegal  is  unequal ;  hence,  the  unjust  and  injustice  arel 
not  the  same  with  these,  but  diflFerent  from  them,  in  the 
same  manner  as  parts  and  wholes.     For  this  in^stice  is  a 
part  of  the  whole  of  injustice ;  and,  in  a  similar  manner, 
this  justice  is  a  part  of  the  whole  of  justice.     We  must, 
therefore,  speak  concerning  the  justice  and  injustice  which 
rank  as  parts,  and  after  the  same  manner  concerning  the 
paitially  just  and  unjust.     The  justice,  therefore^  and  in- 
justice which  are  arranged  according  to  universal  virtue, 
and  of  which  the  former  is  the  use  of  the  whole  of  vir* 
tue,  and  the  latter  of  the  whole  of  vice,  with  reference 
to  another  person,  we  shall  omit.     It  is,  likewise,   evi- 
dent how  the  just  and  the  unjust  which  are  arranged  con- 
formably  to  these,  are  to  be  distinguished.     For  nearly 
most  of  those  things  which  are  legal  are  ordained  from 
universal  virtue.     For  the  law  orders  men  to  live  con- 
formably to  every  virtue,  and  forbids  them  from  acting 
conformably  to  any  one  of  the  vices.     But  the  efficient 
causes  of  the  whole  of  virtue,  are  those  legal  actions 
which  are  established  by  the  laws  for  the  purposes  of 
public  discipline.     Concerning  the  discipline,  however, 
of  an  individual,  according  to  which  he  is  simply  a  good 
man,    whether  it  pertains   to   the  political,  or  another 
science,  will  be  determined  hereafter.'     For  perhaps   it 
is  not  the  same  thing  to  be  a  good  man,  and  a  good  citi- 
zen.    But  there  is  one  species  of  the  justice  which  sub- 
sists according  to  a  part,  and  of  the  just  pertaining  to  it, 
and  which  consists  in  the  distributions  either  of  honour, 
or  riches,  or  such  other  things  as  may  be  divided  among 
those  who  partake  of  the  same  polity.     For  in  these  it  is 


■  I.  e.  In  the  third  Book  of  the  Politics,  Chap.  4. 


CHAP,  It. 


ETHICS. 


159 


possible  that  one  person  may  share  unequally,  and  equally, 
with  another.      But  another  species   of  justice  is  that 
which  possesses  a  corrective  power  in  contracts.  Of  this, 
however,  there  are  two  parts.     For  of  contracts  some 
are  voluntary,  but  others  are  involuntary*     The  volun- 
tary, indeed,  are,  buying,  selling,  putting  out  money  at 
interest,  suretyship,  lending  any  thing  on  hire,  pledging, 
and  hiring  [a  slave  or  an  artificer.]     But  these  contracts 
are  said  to  be  voluntary,  because  the  principle  of  them  is 
voluntary.      And    of  hivoluntary   contracts,  some   are 
clandestine,  such  as  theft,  adultery,  witchcraft,  prosti- 
tution, deceiving  the  slave  of  another  person,  insidious 
murder,  and  bearing  false  witness.     But  the  violent  are, 
such  as  blows, '  bonds,  death,  plunder,  mutilation,  slan- 
der  and  contumely. 

'  The  reader  who  Is  not  an  adept  in  the  philosophy  of  Aristotle, 
will  doubtless  be  surprised  that  he  ranks  blotvs  among  contracts.  But 
in  order  to  solve  this  apparent  absurdity,  it  must  be  observed,  that 
particular  justice  is  divided  by  Aristotle  into  the  distributive  and  the 
commutative ;  and  that  the  commutative  is  that  which  gives  recti- 
tude to  contracts,  and  commutations,  through  which  a  thing  is 
transferred  from  one  person  to  anotlier,  and  universally,  to  actions, 
through  which  one  person  acts,  and  another  suffers.  Under  tlie 
word  Tvm>.hxtyt/.ecrttj  tlierefore,  i.  e.  contracts,  Aristotle,  also,  con:- 
prehends  coviimutations  of  every  description. 


160 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK    V. 


CHAPTER    nt. 


\ 


Since,  however,  the  unjust  man  is  unequal,  and, 
also,  the  unjust  belongs  to  the  unequal,  it  is  evident  that 
there  is  a  certain  medium  of  the  unequal ;  but  this  is  the. 
equal.  For  in  whatever  action  there  is  the  more  and  the? . 
less,  there  is  also  the  equal.  If,  therefore,  the  unjust  is 
unequal,  the  just  will  be  equal ;  which,  indeed,  without 
any  reasoning  process,  is  manifest  to  all  men.  But  since 
the  equal  is  a  medium,  the  just  will  be  a  certain  medium. 
The  equal,  however,  is  in  two  things  at  least.  It  is  neces- 
sary, therefore,  that  the  just,  which  is  a  medium  and 
equal,  should  be  referred  to  a  certain  thing,  and  to  cer- 
tain things.  And  so  far,  indeed,  as  it  is  a  medium,  it  is 
referred  to  certain  things ;  but  these  are  the  more  and 
the  less.  And  so  far  as  it  is  equal,  it  is  referred  to  two 
things  ;  but  so  far  as  it  is  the  just,  it  is  referred  to  cer- 
tain things.  Hence,  it  is  necessary  that  the  just  should 
be  in  four  things  at  least ;  for  the  persons  to  whom  the 
just  pertains  are  two,  and  the  things  in  which  it  consists 
are  two.  And  there  will  be  the  same  equality  between 
s  the  persons  to  whom  justice  pertains,  and  the  things  in 
which  it  consists  j  for  as  is  the  relation  of  the  former  to 
each  other,  such,  also,  is  that  of  the  latter!    For  if  th^ 


chAp.  in. 


ETHICS. 


161 


persons  are  hot  equal,  they  will  not  have  equal 
things.  Battles,  however,  and  accusations  hence  origi- 
nate, when  either  equal  persons  do  not  obtain  equal 
things,  or  those  that  are  not  equal  have  an  equal  distri- 
bution of  things.  This,  also,  is  evident  from  distribu- 
,  tion  according  to  desert ;  for  all  men  acknowledge,  that 
the  just  in  distributions  should  be  made  according  to  a 
certain  desert.  All  men,  however,  do  not  say  that  there 
IS  the  same  desert ;  but  democratic  men,  indeed,  say  that 
desert  is  liberty ;  and  of  the  oligarchists,  some  say  that 
it  is  wealth,  but  others  that  it  is  nobility ;  but  the  aristo- 
crats say  that  it  is  virtue.  The  just,  therefore,  is  some- 
thing analogous ;  for  the  analogous  is  not  only  the  pecu- 
liarity of  monadic  number  [or  number  consisting  of  units,] 
but  of  number  universally.*  For  analogy  or  proportion 
IS  equality  of  ratio,  and  consists  in  four  things  at 
least.  That  disjunct  proportion,  therefore,  consists  in 
four  terms  is  evident ;  and  this  is  also  the  case  with  con- 
tinned  proportion.  For  thi5  uses  one  thing  as  two  things ; 
as,  for  instance,  as  A  is  to  B,  so  is  B  to  C.  Hence,  B 
is  twice  assumed ;  so  that  if  B  is  placed  twice,  the  ana- 
logous things  will  be  four.  But  the  just,  also,  consists  m^ 
four  things  at  least,  and  the  reason  is  the  same ;  for  the 
persons  to  whom  justice  is  distributed,  and  the  things 
which  are  distributed,  are  similarly  divided.  As  the 
term  A,  therefore,  is  to  B,  so  will  C  be  to  D.  And, 
therefore,  alternately,  as  A  is  to  C,  so  is  B  to  D.  Hence, 
the  whole  will  be  compared  with  the  whole,  which  the 
distribution  conjoins ;  and  if  they  are  thus  compounded, 
they  will  be  justly  conjoined.     The  conjunction,  there- 


«  i.  e.  Of  number  applied  to  things,  such   as  ten  men,  eigfit 
horses,  3cc. 


ArisL 


VOL.  II, 


J  62 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  V. 


fore  of  the  term  A  with  C,  and  of  B  with  D,  forms  the 
iustice  which  is  in  distribution;  and  the  just  is  the  me- 
dium of  that  which  is  foreign  from  the  analogous.  For 
the  analogous  is  a  medium  ;  and  the  just  is  analogous. 
Mathematicians,  however,  call  such  an  analogy  or  pro- 
portion  as  this  geometrical ;  for  in  geometrical  propor- 
don  it  happens  that  the  whole  is  to  the  whok  as  all  the 
parts  to  all.     But  this  proportion  is  not  continued;   tor 

'.Because  distributive  justice  is  a  certain  proportior>aIity,  it  has 
certain  properties  of  proportionality.     The  first  property  .s,  that 
things  vJhich  are  proportional  to  each  other,   are,  also,  alternately 
proportional.     Thus,  because,  as  10  is  to  5,  so  is  8  to  4,  it  wU  be 
alternately  as  10  is  to  8,  so  is  5  to4.  And  this  property,  also,  accords 
with  distributive  justice.   For  let  there  be  two  persons,  one  of  whom 
has  laboured  for  one  month,  but  the  other  for  two  months  ;  d.stri, 
tutive  justice  in  this  case  requires,  that  if  one  pound  m  money  .s 
given  to  him  who  has  laboured  for  one  month,  two  pounds  should 
be  eiven  to  him  who  has  laboured  for  two  months.     And  then  .t 
will  be  as  he  who  has  laboured  for  two  months,  is  to  h,m  who  has 
laboured  for  one  month,  so  are  two  pounds  to  one  pound.     Hence, 
alternately,  as  be  who  has  laboured  for  two  months  .s  to  two 
pounds,  so  is  he  who  has  laboured  for  one  month  to  one  pound 

The  second  property  is,  when  there  is  the  same  rat.o  of  the  first 
term  to  the  second,  as  of  the  third  term  to  the  fourth,  there  .s,  also, 
the  same  ratio  of  the  first  and  third  terms  taken  together,  as  of  tie 
second  and  fourth  taken  together.     Thus,  if  there  .s  the  sarne  rat.o 
of  10  to  5  as  of  8  to  4,  there  is,  also,  the  same  rat.o  of  10  and  b 
taken  together,  to  Sand  4  taTcen  together,  viz.  there  .s  the  same 
duple  ratio.     Tor  as  10  is  to  5,  or  as  8  is  to  4,  so  .s  18  to  9.     This 
property,  also,  accords  with  distributive  justice.    For  the  same  ratio 
whiVh  he  who  has  laboured  for  two  months  has  to  two  pounds  in 
money,  he  who  has  laboured  for  one  month  has  to  one  pound  j  and 
the  .ame  ratio,  also,  have  two  persons  who  have  laboured  for  three 
months  to  three  pounds.     Distributive  justice,  therefore,  so  distr.- 
bntes  common  goods,  that  as  tl.e  persons  are  to  each  other,  so  are 
the  goods  distributed  to  such  persons,  and  as  are  all  the  persons 
taken  together,  so  are  all  tlxe  things  distributed  coUecUvely  taken.     • 


ivAip. 


IV. 


ETHICS. 


163 


the  same  thing  is  not  assumed  as  the  person  to  whom  a 
'distribution  is  made,  and  as  the  thing  distributed.  This 
justice,  therefore,  consists  in  proportion ;  but  the  unjust 
jis  foreign  from  proportion.  And  hence,  one  person  has 
more,  but  another  less  [than  he  ought ;]  which,  also, 
happens  to  be  the  case  in  actions.  For  he,  indeed,  who 
does  an  injury  has  more,  but  he  who  is  injured  has  less 
of  good  than  he  ought.  The  contrarj',  however,  takes 
place  in  evil ;  for  a  less  evil  has  the  relation  of  good 
with  respect  to  a  greater  evil.  For  a  less  is  more  eligi- 
ble than  a  greater  evil.  But  the  eligible  is  good ;  and 
that  which  is  more  eligible  is  a  greater  good.  This, 
therefore,  is  one  species  of  the  just. 

f 


CHAPTER   IV. 


The  other  remaining  speciop  of  justice  is  corrective, 
which  is  conversant  both  with  voluntary  and  involuntary  ; 
contracts.  But  the  form  of  this  justice  is  different  from 
the  former.  For  the  justice  which  is  distributive  of  com- 
mon things,  £or  things  of  a  public  nature,  3  always  subsists 
according  to  the  above-mentioned  proportion.  For  if 
the  distribution  is  made  from  common  property,  it  will 
be  according  to  the  same  ratio  as  the  things  introduced 
have  to  each  other ;  and  the  unjust  which  is  opposed  to 


164 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  V. 


this  justice,  is  foreign  from  proportion.     The  just,  how- 
ever, which  is  in  contracts,  is,  indeed,  a  certain  equahty, 
and  the  unjust  is  inequality ;  yet  not  according  to  geo- 
metrical, but  arithmetical  proportion.     For  it  makes  no 
difference,  whether  a  worthy  deprives  a  bad  man  of  his 
OToperty,  or  a  bad  a  worthy  man  ;  nor  whether  a  worthy 
.pr  a  bad  man  commits  adultery.     But  the  law  only  looks 
to  the  difference  of  the  injury,  and  uses  the  persons  as 
,if  they  were  equal,  though  the  one,  indeed,  should  m- 
jure,  but  the   other  should  be  injured,  and  though  the 
one  should  do,  but  the  other  should  suffer,  harm.  Hence, 
..this  injustice,  since  it  is  unequal,  the  judge  endeavours  to 
equalize.     For  when  one  man,  indeed,  inflicts  a  blow, 
but  another  is  struck,  or  one  man  kills,  but  another  is 
killed,  the  suffering  and  the  action  are  divided  into  un- 
equal  parts  ;  but  the  judge,  by  the  punishment  which  he 
inflicts,  endeavours  to  produce  an  equality,  by  detracting 
from  the  gain.      For  in  things  of  this  kind,  in  short, 
though  to  some  things  the  name  will  not  be  appropriate, 
the  injury  is  denominated  gain,  and  the  endurance  of  the 
injury  loss.     But  when   the  suffering  is  measured,  the 
one  is  called  loss  but   the  other   gain.     Hence,  of  th« 
more  and  the  less,  the  equal  is  the  medium.     With   re- 
-  spect  to  loss  and  gain,  however,  the  one  is  more,  but  the 
other  less  contrarily ;  for  the  more  of  good,  but  the  less 
of  evil  is  gain,  and  the  contrary  is  loss;  of  which  the 
equal  is  the  medium,  which  we  say  is  the  just.     Hence, 
the  justice   which   is   corrective  will  be  the  medium  of 
loss  and  gain.     Hence,   too,    when  men  contend  with 
each  other  [about  legal  affairs]  they  fly  to  the  judge  •, 
but  to  go  to  a  judge  is  to  go  to  justice.     For  a  judge  is 
nothing  eke  than  as  it  were  animated  justice.  They,  also, 
search  for  a  judge  who  is  a  medium ;   and  some  persons 


CHAP.  IV. 


ETHICS. 


ir>5 


call  judges  mediators,  as  if  they  should  obtain  justice  if 
they  obtained  the  medium.  The  just,  therefor^,  is  a' 
certain  medium,  since  the  judge  is  also.  But  the  judge- 
i  equalizes,  and  as  if  a  line  were  cut  into  unequal  parts^ 
he  takes  away  from  the  greater  section  that  by  which  it 
exceeds  the  half,  and  adds  it  to  the  less  section.  When,. 
however,  the  whole  is  divided  into  two  equal  parts,  then 
men  say  they  have  what  is  their  own,  when  they  obtain 
the  equal.  But  the  equal  is  the  middle  of  the  greater 
and   the   less   according    to   arithmetical    proportion.  * 


"*  Any  line,  or  any  number,  may  be  divided  into  unequal  parts. 
But  between  unequal  lines  and  numbers,  both  an  arithmetical  and 
a  geometrical  medium  may  be  obtained.  An  arithmetical  me- 
dium, therefore,  is  that  tvhick  exceeds  the  less  quantiti^  not  in  the 
same  ratio  hy  tvhich  it  is  exceeded  hy  the  greater ^  but  by  the  same 
quantity.  But  a  geometrical  medium  is  that  which  exceeds  the  les& 
quantity  in  the  same  ratio,  but  not  by  the  same  quantity,  by  tvhich  it 
is  exceeded  by  the  greater.  Thus,  for  instance,  the  arithmetical  me- 
dium between  tlie  numbers  9  and  3  is  6,  because  6  exceeds  3  as 
much  as  it  is  exceeded  by  9 ;  yet  not  rn  the  same  ratio.  For  6 
exceeds  3  in  a  duple  ratio,  but  is  exceeded  by  9  in  a  sesquialter 
ratio  ;  since  9  contains  6  once,  and  the  half  of  6  besides.  On  the 
contrary  6  is  a  geometrical  medium  between  3  and  12,  because  it  is 
exceeded  by  12  not  in  the  same  quantity,  but  in  the  same  ratio  by 
which  6  exceeds  3.  But  that  it  exceeds  and  is  exceeded  in  the 
same  ratio  is  evident.  For  as  6  exceeds  3  in  a  duple  ratio,  so, 
likewise,  it  is  exceeded  by  12  in  a  duple  ratio. 

Hence,  if  a  line  of  12  inches  is  divided  unequally  into  two  parts, 
the  one  consisting  of  9  and  the  other  of  3  inches,  a  line  which  is  an 
arithmetical  medium  is  to  be  found,  and  which  is  a  line  of  6  inches. 
By  this  middle  line,  therefore,  the  imequal  parts  may  be  reduced 
to  an  equality.  For  if  from  the  greater  part,  i.  e.  from  the  line  of 
9  inches,  that  is  taken  away  through  which  it  exceeds  the  middle 
line  of  6  inches,  i.  e.  if  3  inches  are  taken  away  and  added  to  the 
less  part,  or  the  line  of  3  inches,  those  two  lines  will  become  equal, 
and  the  whole  line  of  12  inches  wfll  be  divided  into  two  equal 


K6 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  V# 


Hence,  also,  the  just  (^ikohov)  is  denominated,  because  it 
is  divided  into  two  equal  parts  (or*  8i;^a  sa-riv),  just  as  if 
it  should  be  said  to  be  h^o^iov ;    and  a  judge  is  called 
hxao-rrig^  as  if  he  were  h-)(ct<rTrigy  or  one  who  divides  a 
thing  into  two  equal  parts.     For  if  when  two  things  are 
equal,  that  which  is  taken  from  the  one,  is  added  to  the 
other,  the  latter  will   exceed  what  the  former  then  be- 
comes, by  two  such  parts.     For  if  what  is  taken  away 
from  one  of  the  equal  things  were  not  added  to  the  other,, 
the  one  would  exceed  the  other  by  one  such  part  onlyl 
The  thing,  therefore,  to  which  something  is  added  ex- 
ceeds the  medium  by  one  part ;  and  the  medium,   also, 
exceeds  by  one  part  that  from  which  something  is  taken 
away.     By  this,  therefore,  we  may  know,  what  ought 
to  be  taken  away  from  him  who  has  more,  and  what' 
ought  to  be  added  to  him  who  has  less.     For  it  is  neces- 
sary to  add  to  him  who  has  less,  that  by  which  the  me- 
dium exceeds,  but  to  take  away  from  the  greatest  that  by 
which  the  medium  is  exceeded.     Let  there  be  three  lines 
AA,  BB,  CC,  equal  to  each  other.     From  AA  let  AE 
be  taken,  and  added   to   CC,  and  let  that  part  be  CD. 
Hence,  the  whole  line  DCC,  will  exceed  the  line  AE, 


parts.  In  a  similar  manner  an  unequal  division  takes  place  m 
contracts.  For  one  person  gains  and  receives  more,  for  Instance, 
900^. ;  but  another  loses,  and  receives  less,  for  instance,  300/.  The 
judge,  however,  that  he  may  reduce  the  contract  to  an  equality, 
ought  to  find  the  arithmetical  medium  between  the  more  and  the 
less,  i.  e.  between  900/.  and  300/.,  which  medium  is  600/.  But  hav- 
ing found  this  medium,  he  ought  to  take  from  him  who  has  more 
that  by  which  he  exceeds,  and  give  it  to  him  who  has  less ;  for  thus 
the  loss  and  gain  will  be  equalized,  and  divided  into  half,  so  that 
each  will  have  600/.     And  this  is  commutative  justice. 


f aaiateaiift-  w"  -t^-^  (fF-m;%  ■'tri^M,\sssf*!iiSiaiitsmiS)Sisi^»^JSstS^S^^  i 


CHAP.  IV. 


ETHICS. 


167 


by  the  line  CD,  and  the  line  FC  ;  and,  therefore,  it  will 
exceed  the  line  BB  by  the  line  CD.' 


A 

E 

A 

B 

B 

C 

F 

CD 

This,  also,  takes  place  in  other  arts  ;  for  they  would: 
be  subverted,  unless  that  which  suffers,  suffers  the  same 
in  quantity  and  quality  as  that  which  acts.     But  th^se 
appellations,  loss  and  gain,  are  derived  from  voluntary 
contracts.     For  when  a  man  obtains  more  thaii  his  own, 
he  is  said  to  gain ;  but  when  he  has  less  than  what  he  had; 
at  first,  he  is  said  to  have  lost ;  as  in  buying  and  selling, 
and  such  other  things  as  the  law  permits.     When,  how- , 
ever,  men  have  neither  more  nor  less,  but  give  as  much- 
as  they  receive,  they  are  said  to  have  their  own,  and  nei* 
I  ther  to  lose,  nor  gain.     Hence,   the  just  is  the  medium  of 
•  a  certain  gain  and  loss  in  things  which  are  not  voluntary ; 
i  so  that  each  of  those  who  form  a  contract  may  have  as. 
much  afterwards  as  before. 


*  Let  each  of  the  three  equal  lines  A  A,  BB,  and  CC,  be  sup- 
posed to  be  10  inches.  Then  if  one  Inch  is  taken  from  AA  and 
added  to  BB,  all  the  lines  will  become  unequal,  so  that  AA  will 
be  9  inches,  BB  will  be  11  Inches,  and  CC,  10  inches.  Hence,  CC 
will  be  an  arithmetical  medium  between  AA  thus  diminished,  and 
BB  thus  increased,  viz.  between  9  and  II.  If,  therefore,  from  BB 
thus  increased,  i.  e.  if  from  1 1  inches  1  inch  be  taken  away,  by 
which  it  exceeds  the  medium  10  inches,  and  that  1  inch  be  added 
to  A  A  thus  diminished,  or  to  9  inches,  all  the  three  will  have  10- 
inches,  and,  therefore,  all  will  be  equal  to  each  other,  and  to  the 
raedium. 


168 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  V. 


CHAPTER   V. 


\i 


^ 


To  some  persons,  however,  retaliation  appears  to  be 
simply  just,  and  this  also  was  the  opinion  of  the  Pytha- 
goreans ;  for  they  defined  the  just  to  be  simply  retalia- 
tion.   But  retaliation  is  neither  adapted  to  distributive  nor 
to  corrective  justice ;  though  Rhadamanthus  [in  -ffischy- 
lus]  appears  to  assert,  that  justice  is  this,  "  and  that  the 
punishment  will  be  equitable  when  a  man  suffers  the 
same  thing  as  he  has  done.'*     For  retaliation  is  frequent- 
ly discordant.     Thus,  for  instance,  if  a  magistrate  should, 
strike  a  man,  it  is  not  proper  that  the  man  should  strike 
him  in  return ;    and  if  any  one  strikes  a  magistrate,  be# 
ought  not  only  to  be  struck,  but  to  be  punished  more 
severely.     Again,  there  is  a  great  difference  between  the 
voluntary  and  the  involuntary.     But  commercial  inter- 
course is  preserved  by  a  justice  of  this  kind,   if  the  reta-« 
liation  is  made  according  to  proportion,  and  not  accord- 
ing to  equality.     For  by  analogous  retaliation,  the  union 
of  a  city  becomes  permanent.     For  men  either  endeavour? 
to  return  evil  for  evil ;  for  it  appears  to  be  slavery  if  they 
cannot  retaliate  ;  or  they  wish  when  they  benefit  others 
.  to  be  themselves  benefited  in  return  ;    since  if  this  does 
not  take  place  there  is  no   compensation,  by  which  the 
permanent  union  of  society  is  eflfected.     Hence,  the  team 


CHAP.  V. 


ETHICS. 


169 


pie  of  the  Graces  is  built  in  a  conspicuous  part  of  the 
city,  for  the  purpose  of  producing  remuneration ;  for 
this  is  the  peculiarity  of  grace  or  favour.  For  it  is  re- 
quisite to  return  a  favour  to  him  who  has  conferred  one, 
and  he  again  should  begin  to  confer  a  favour.  But  a 
conjunction  according  to  a  diameter,  produces  the  retri- 
bution which  is  according  to  analogy.  Thus  for  instance, 
let  the  builder  of  a  house  be  A,  a  shoemaker  B,  the 
house  C,  and  the  shoe  D. 


A 

B 

'I'he  builder  of  a  house. 

A  shoemaker 

C 

D 

'I'he  house. 

The  shoe. 

f*-  It  is  necessary,  therefore,  that  the  builder  of  the  house 
should  receive  from  the  shoemaker  his  work,  and   give 
his  work  to  him  in  return.     Hence,  if  the  first  equality 
is  that  which  is  according  to  analogy,  and  afterwards  a 
retaliation  is  made,  it  will  be  that  which  we  have  men- 
tioned ;  but  if  not,  there  will  neither  be  equality,  nor  will 
the  bond  of  society  remain  ;  for  nothing  hinders  but  that 
the  work  of  the  one  may  be  more  excellent  than  the  work 
of  the  other.     It  is  necessary,  therefore,  that  these  should 
be  equalized.     But  this  also  takes  place   in  the  other 
arts  ;  for  they  would  be  subverted,  unless  that  which  is 
passive  suffered  the  same  in  quantity  and  quality,  as  the 
agent  effects.     For  the  communion  of  society  is  not  pro- 
duced from  two  physicians,  but  from  a  physician   ^d  a  \ 
husbandman,  and  in  short,  from  different,  and  not  from 
equal  characters  ;  but  it  is  necessary  that    these  should   | 
be  equalized.      Hence,    it  is   requisite   that   all  things   ^ 
should  be  capable  of  being  compared  with  each  other  of; 
which  there  is  an  exchange  •,  and  for  this  purpose  money  \ 


170 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  V. 


was  adopted,  and  becomes/  in  a  certain  respect,  a  mea- 
sure. For  it  measures  all  things ;  so  that  it  likewise, 
measures  excess  and  defect ;  and  therefore  determines 
how  many  shoes  are  equal  to  a  housey  or  to  nutriment. 
It  is  necessary,  therefore,  that  such  as  the  ratio  is  of  the 
builder  of  a  house  to  a  shoemaker,  such  should  be  the 
ratio  of  the  number  of  shoes  to  a  house,  or  to  nutri- 
ment. For  if  this  does  not  take  place,  there  will  nei- 
ther be  exchange  nor  communion.  And  it  will  not  take 
place,  unless  the  things  compared  are  in  a  certain  respect*^ 
equal.  Hence,  it  is  necessary,  as  has  been  before  ob- 
served, that  all  things  should  be  measured  by  one  cer- 
tain thing  ;  and  this  is,  in  reality,  indigence,  which  con- 
nects all  things.  For  if  mankind  were  not  in  want  of 
any  thing,  or  if  they  were  not  similarly  in  want,  either 
there  would  be  no  exchange,  or  not  the  same.  But  mo- 
ney was  adopted  by  compact,  as  a  subsidiary  exchange 
for  indigence;  and  on  this  account  money  was  called 
(vojLt*<r/xa),  because  it  is  not  established  by  nature,  but  by 
law,  (vopp;)  and  it  is  in  our  power  to  change  it,  and  ^ 
render  it  useless.  Retaliation,  therefore,  will  then  take 
place,  when  there  is  an  equalization.  Hence,  as  the  hus- 
bandman is  to  the  shoemaker,  so  is  the  work  of  the  shoe- 
maker to  the  work  of  the  husbandman.  But  it  is  neces- 
sary to  bring  them  to  the  form  of  proportion,  when  an 
exchange  takes  place  ;  for  without  this,  one  of  the  ex- 
tremes will  have  both  the  excesses.  When,  however, 
each  person  has  his  own,  they  will  thus  be  equal,  and 
communicate  with  each  other,  because  this  equality  can 
be  produced  among  them.  Let  the  husbandman  be  A, 
the  nutriment  C,  and  the  work  of  the  shoemaker,  equal 
to  the  nutriment,  be  D. 


ajOamiM  BBiiiaiBii>'iafe*«aBasfcsiat 


CHAP,  V. 


ETHICS. 


171 


A  -.  B 

The  b^sbandman.  The  shoemaker. 

C  D 

^he  nutriment.    The  work  of  the  shoemaker  equal  to  the  nutriment. 


t* 


But  without  this  retaliation  there  would  be  no  commu- 
nion of  society.     That  indigence,   however,  connects,  as 
being  one  certain  thing,  is  evident,   because  when  men 
are  not  in  want  of  each  other,  either  both,  or  one  of  them, 
no  exchange  takes  place,  as  it  does  when  one  is  in  want 
of  what  the  other  possesses  ;  as,  for  instance,  wine,    for 
which  an  exportation  of  corn  is  granted.     It  is  neces- 
sary, therefore,  that  this  should  be  equalized.     In   order 
to  future  exchange,  however,  if  nothing  should  at  present 
be  wanted,  that  it  may  be  obtained  when  it  is  wanted,^ 
money  becomes  as  it  were  a  surety  to  us.   For  it  is  requi- 
site that  he  who  brings  money,  should  take   what  he 
wants  in  exchange  for  it.     Money,  therefore,  also  suffers 
this  very  same  thing  ;  for  it  does  not  always  possess   an 
equal  power,  but  at  the  same  time  it  is  more  permanent. 
Hence,  it  is  necessary  that  all  things  should  be  estimat- 
ed; for  thus  there  will  always  be  an  exchange  ;  and  if 
there  is  an  exchange,  there  will  be  communion.     Mo- 
ney, therefore,  as  a  measure  having  made  things  com- 
mensurate, equalizes  them.      For   there   would   be  no 
communion  without  exchange,   nor   exchange   without 
equality,  nor  equality  without  commensuration.    In  rea- 
lity, therefore,  it  is  impossible  that  things  which  so  much 
differ,  should  become  commensurate ;  but  for  the  pur- 
poses of  indigence,  this  is  sufficiently  possible.    Hence, 
it  is  necessary  that  there  should  be  one  certain  thing  [as 
a  measure,]  and  this  from  assumption.  Hence,  it  is  called 
(vojai(r]u.a)  money.    For  this  causes  all  things  to  be  com- 
niensurate  J  since  all  things  are  measured  by  money. 


§72 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  V# 


Let  a  house  be  A,  ten  minas:  B,  and  a  bed  C.  A,  there- 
fore, will  be  the  half  of  B,  if  the  house  is  wortfi  five 
minse,  or  is  equal  to  the  value  of  five  minae.  But  let  th* 
bed  C  be  the  tenth  part  of  B.  It  is  evident,  therefore, 
how  many  beds  are  equal  in  value  to  the  house,  viz.  five. 
That  such,  however,  ^as  the  exchange  before  there  was 
nmiey,  is  manifest ;  for  it  makes  no  difierence  whether 
five  beds,  or  as  much  as  the  worth  of  five  beds,  are  given 
for  the  house.  Thus,  therefore,  we  have  shown  what 
the  unjust,  and  also  what  the  just  is. 

But  these  things  being  determined,  it  is  evident  that  a 
just  action  is  a  medium  between  doing  and  receiving  an 
injury ;   for  the  former  is  to  have  more,   but  the  latter 
less  [than  is  just.]    Justice,  however,  is  a  medium,  not 
after  the  same  manner  with  the  former  virtues,  but  be- 
cause  it  pertains  to  a  medium '  [between  the  more  and 
the  less  ;]  but  injustice  pertains  to  extremes.     And  jus- 
tice, indeed,  is   that  according  to  which  a  just  man  is^ 
said  to  act  justly  from  deliberate  choice,  and  to  distribute" 
justice  both  to  himself,  in  making  a  compact  with  ano- 
ther  person,  and  to  another  who  makes  a  compact  with 
another ;  yet  not  so,  as  to  attribute  more  of  what  is  eli- 
gible to  himself,  and  less  to  his  neighbour,  and  the  con- 
trary of  that  which  is  hurtful,  but  so  as  to  distribute  the 
equal  [to  himself  and  others]  according  to  analogy.  And 


'  For  the  other  virtues  are  certain  mediocrities,  because  they 
are  media  between  two  vices,  one  of  v^hich  errs  through  excess, 
and  the  other  through  deficiency.  On  the  contrary,  justice  is  not 
a  medium  between  two  vices  after  this  manner,  but  it  is  opposed  to 
injustice  alone,  which  errs  by  giving  to  one  person  more,  and  to 
another  less,  but  gives  to  neither  what  is  equal.  >, 


CfHAP.  VI. 


ETHICS. 


Ifa 


he  adopts  the  same  mode  of  conduct  towards  another 
ierson  who  forms  a  compact  with  another.     Injustice, 
on  the  contrary,   is  that  according  to  which  an  unjust 
man  is  said  to  act  unjustly  from  deliberate  choice,  and  to 
distribute  injustice  both    to    himself  and  others;    but 
this  is  the  excess  and  deficiency  of  that  which  is  bene- 
ficial  or  hurtful,  contrary  to  the   analogous.     Hence, 
injustice  is  excess'  and   deficiency,  because  it  pertains  to 
excess  and  deficiency.     To  the  unjust  man  himself,  in- 
deed,  it  is  an  excess  of  that  which  is  simply  beneficial, 
but  a  deficiency  of  that  which  is  hurtful ;  but  to  others 
it  distributes  in  a  manner  wholly  similar ;  and  in  what- 
ever way  the  distribution  may  happen  to  be  made,  it^is 
contrary  to  the  analogous.     Of  an  unjust   action,  how- 
ever, the  less  extreme  is,  to  be  injured,  and  the  greater, 
to  injure.     After  this  manner,   therefore,  we  have  dis- 
cussed justice  and  injustice,  and  have  shown  what  is  the 
nature  of  each  ;    and  similarly  we  have  discussed  univer- 
^  sally  the  just  and  the  unjust. 


.4 


CHAPTER  VI. 


•r- 


Since,  ho'wever,  it  is  possible  that  he  who  acts  un- 
justly may  not  yet  be  unjust,  from  what  kind  of  iniqui- 
tous deeds  will  a  man  be  unjust,  according  to  each  species 


174 


•Hie  nicomachean 


^OOK 


I 


of  injustice  ?     For  instance,  will  it  be  as  a  thief,  or  as  an 
adulterer,  or  as  a  robber?     Or  thus,  indeed,  will  the 
difficulty  still  remain  ?     For  a  man  may  have  connexion 
with  a  woman  knowing  who  she  is,  yet  not  from  a  prin- 
ciple of  deliberate  choice,  but  from  passion.     Hence,  in 
this  case,  he  acts  unjustly,  but  is  not  unjust ;  as  neither 
is  a'  thief,  though  he  may  have  committed  theft ;  nor  an 
adulterer,  though  he  may  have  committed  adultery;  and 
in  a  similar  manner  in  other  things.      In  what  manner, 
therefore,  retaliation  subsists,  with  reference  to  justice, 
has  been  shown  by  us  before.     It  is  necessary,  however, 
not  to  be  ignorant  that  what  we  at  present  investigate,  is 
the  simply  just,  and  the  politically  just.     But  this  justice 
takes  place  among  men  connected  together  in  society, 
and  these  liberal  and  equal  men,  either  according  to  ana- 
logy, or  according  to  number,  with  a  view  to  a  sufficiency 
of  the  necessaries  of  life.     Hence,  those  among  whom 
this  is  not  found,  have  no  political  justice  towards  each 
other,  but  a  certain  justice,  and  which  subsists  according 
to  a  similitude  to  political  justice.     For  there  is  justice 
among  those  with  whom  there  ig  also  law ;  but  there  is 
law  among  those  with   whom  there  is  injustice.     For 
justice  is  the  judgment  of  the  just  and  the  unjust.     But 
with  those  with  whom  there  is  injustice,  there   is  also 
acting  unjustly ;  but  with  all  those  with  whom  there  is 
acting  unjustly,   there  is   not  injustice.      But  injustice 
consists  in  a  man  distributing  to  himself  more  of  what  is 
simply  good,  and  less  of  what  is  simply  evil  [than  he 
ought.]     Hence,  we  do  not  suffer  a  man  to  govern,  but 
reason  ;  because  he  does  this  to  himself  [i.  e.  distributes 
to  himself  more  of  what  is  good,  and  less  of  what  is  evil,] 
and  becomes  a  tyrant.     He,  however,  who  governs,  is 
the  guardian  of  justice  4  but  if  of  justice,  he  is  also  the 


CHAP^^yi. 


•-^* 


'*S' 


ETHICS. 


175 


guardian  of  the  equal.  But  since,  if  he  is  a  just  man,  it 
does  not  appear  that  he  possesses  more  of  external  good 
than  others  ;  for  he  does  not  distribute  more  of  what  is 
Smply  good  to  himself,  unless  it  belongs  to  him  by  ana- 
logy ;  hence,  he  distributes  the  simply  good  to  another ; 
and  on  this  account  it  is  said  that  justice  is  a  foreign 
good,  as  we  have  before  observed.  A  certain  reward, 
therefore,  must  be  given  to  him  ;  but  this  is  honour  and 
a  gift.  Those  persons,  however,  to  whom  these  are  not 
sufficient,  become  tyrants.  But  despotic  and  paternal 
justice  [or  the  justice  of  a  master  towards  his  servants, 
and  of  a  father  towards  his  children,]  are  not  the  same 
with  this,  but  similar  to  it.  For  there  is  no  injustice 
simply  of  a  man  towards  his  own  property ;  but  a  posses- 
.sion  [or  a  slave],  and  a  child,  while  he  is  little  and  not 
yet  separated  from  his  parents,  are  as  it  were  a  part  of 
the  man.  And  no  one  deliberately  chooses  to  injure 
himself.  Hence,  there  is  no  injustice  of  a  man  towards 
himself ;  and  consequently  neither  is  there  injustice,  nor 
political  justice.  For  justice  is  conformable  to  law,  and 
subsists  among  those  with  whom  law  is  naturally  adapted 
to  exist.  But  these  are  persons  with  whom  there  is  an 
equality  of  governing,  and  being  governed.  Hence, 
there  is  more  of  political  justice  between  a  man  and  his 
wife,  than  between  a  father  and  his  children,  or  a  mas- 
ter and  his  servants.  For  this  latter  is  economical  jus- 
tice  ;  but  this  is  different  from  political  justice. 


176 


THE   NICOMACHEAN 


^fiOK 


V. 


CHAP.  VIU 


ETHICS. 


177 


I 


CHAPTER  VII. 


Wi  I'H  respect,  however,  to  political  justice,  one  kind 
is  natural,  but  the  other  legal.  And  the  natural,  indeed, 
is  that  which  has  every  where  the  same  power,  and  this  not 
because  it  appears  or  does  not  appear  to  be  jusdce.  But  the 
/  legal  is  that  respecting  which  from  the  first  it  is  of  no  conse- 
1  quence,  whether  it  is  established  in  this  or  in  that  way,  but 
when  it  is  established,  is  of  consequence ;  such,  for  instance, 
as  that  captives  shall  be  redeemed  for  a  mina ; '  or  that 
a  goat  shall  be  sacrificed,  and  not  two  sheep.*  And  far- 
ther still,  such  laws  as  are  promulgated  about  particu- 
lars ;  such  as  that  sacrifices  shall  be  offered  to  Brasidas,' 
and  whatever  is  established  by  public  decrees.  To  some 
persons,  however,  all  political  justice  appears  to  be  of 
this  kind,  because  that  which  has  a  natural  subsistence  is_ 

*  The  Lacedaemonians  and  Athenians,  during  the  Peloponnesian 
war,  agreed  that  the  captives  on  both  sides  should  be  redeemed  for 
one  mina. 

*  The  Thebans  in  Kgypt  established  a  law  that  a  goat  should  be 
sacrificed  to  Jupiter,  and  not  two  sheep.  See  the  2nd  book  of 
Herodotus. 

^  The  Amphibolitae  ordered  sacrifices  to  be  offered  to  Brasidas 
the  Lacedaemonian  king,  who  fell  fighting  bravely  in  the  Pelopon- 
nesian war. 


mutable,  and  every  where  possesses  the  same  power  j  just 
as  fire  burns  both  here  and  in  Persia;  but  just  things  are 
seen  to  be  mutable.     This,  however,  is  not  entirely,  but 
only  partially  the  case  ;   though  perhaps  with  the  gods,' 
It  is  by  no  means  to  be  admitted  [that  justice  is  mutable ;] 
but  with  us  there  is  something  which  is  naturally  muta- 
ble, though  not  every  thing.     But  at  the  same  time  jus- 
tice is  partly  from  nature  and  partly  not.     What,  how- 
ever, the  justice  is  which  is  from  nature  is  evident  from 
contingencies,  and  things  which  have  a  various  subsist- 
cnce,  and  also  what  the  justice  is  which  is  not  from  nature, 
but  is  legal,  and  established  by  compact,  since  both  are 
similarly  mutable.    The  same  distinction,  likewise,  will  be 
adapted  to  other  things.     For  the  right  hand  is  naturally 
more  excellent,  [i.  e.  is  more  adapted  to  motion]  than 
the  left ;  though  it  is  possible  that  some  persons  may  be 
ambidexter.     The  justice,  however,  which  is  from  com- 
pact and  utility  resembles  measures.     For  the  measures 
of  wine  and  corn  are  not  every  where  equal ;  but  with 
those  who  buy  wine  and  corn  they  are  greater,  and  with 
those  who  sell  them  less.      In  a  similar  manner  justice, 
which  is  not  natural,  but  human,  is  not  every  where  the 
same ;  since  neither  are  polities,  but  every  wiiere  one 
polity  alone  is  conformable  to  nature,  viz.   that  which  is 
the  most  excellent.      Every  thing  jijst,  however,  and 
every  thing  legal  are,  as  universals  to  particulars.     For 
actions  are  many,  but  each  of  them  is  one  thing ;  for  it  is 
a  universal.     But  an  unjust  action  and  the  just  differ,  and 

'  By  the  gods  here,  Aristotle  means  the  celestial  bodies,  which 
being  deified  bodies,  were  called  by  the  antients  gods.  Natural 
causes,  therefore,  with  these,  cannot  even  accidentally  be  changed 
from  their  mode  of  operation.  Thus  the  motion  of  the  sun  can 
never  be  changed. 

Arisf.  VOL.  II.  M 


t 


ITS 


TIIF   NTCaM^CHEAN 


BOOK  V". 


also  a  just  action  and  the  juct.     For  the  unjust  subsists 
either  by  nature  or  by  order.     But  the  very  same  thing, 
which  when  done  is  an  unjust  action,  is  not  so  before  i? 
is  done,  but  is  unjust ;   and  in  a  simikr  manner   with 
respect  to  a  just  action.     But  that  which  is  common  is 
rather  called  a  deed  justly  done,  {hxairj7rpayr,ixa)  ;  but 
the  correction  of  an  unjust  deed,  a  just  deed,  (oixai«)^a-) 
With  respect  to  each  of  these,  however,  what  the  quality 
and  number  of  their  species  are,  and  what  the  particulars 
•arc  with  which  tliey  are  conversant,  we  shall  hereafter 
consider* 


CHAPTER  Viri. 

Since,   therefore,   things  just  and  unjust  are  those 
%hich  we  have  enumerated,  a  man  then  indeed  does  an; 
injury,  or  acts  justly,  when  he  thus  acts  voluntarily ;  but 
when   involuntarily,    he    neither    does  an  injury,    nor 
acts  justly,  except  from  accident.     For  it  happens  that 
the  things  which  he  does  are  ekher  >ust  or  unjust ;  but 
a  deed  unjustly  done,  and  a  just  action,  are  defined  by 
the  voluntary  and  the  involuntary ;  for  when  an  action  is 
Voluntary,  it  is  blamed  ;  but  at  the  same  time  it  is  then 
a  deed  unjustly  done.     Hence,  there  will  be  something 
unjust,  -which  is  not  yet  a  deed  unjustly  done,  unless  the 
voluntary  is  added  to  it.  But  I  call  the  voluntary  indeed. 


K^^g^^^^^fagii^^S^gDfl 


CHAP.  Viir. 


KtHICS. 


179 


as  has  been  before  observed,  that  which  a  man  does  of 
things  which  it  is  in  his  power  to  do  knowingly,  and  not 
ignorantly,  viz*  not  being  ignorant  of  the  circumstances 
of  the   action ;  as  for  instance,   who  it  is   he  strikes, 
and   with  what  he   strikes,  and  on  what  account,  and 
when   he    does    this,   neither    from   accident,    nor   by 
tOmjAiIsion ;  as  would  be  the  case,  if  some  one  taking 
his  hand,  should  strike   another  person  with   it.     For 
he  would    then    not    strike  willingly,    because  it   was 
not  in  his  power  to  avoid  giving  the  blow.     It  may  hap- 
pen,  how*ever,  that  he  who  is  struck  is  a  father ;  but  he 
who  strikes  him  may  merely  know  that  he  is  a  man,  or 
some  one  of  those  who  are  present,  but  may  be  ignorant 
that  it  is  his  father.     A  similar  distinction  also  must  be 
made  in  that  for  the  sake  of  which  a  thing  is  done,  and 
concerning  the  whole  action.     Hence,  that  which  is  not 
known,   or  which  is  known  indeed,  but  is  not  in  the 
power  of  him  who  acts,  or  which  he  is  compelled  to  do, 
is  done  involuntarily.     For  we  both  do  and  suffer  many 
things  which  have  a  natural  subsistence  knowingly,  no 
one  of  which  is  either  voluntary  or  involuntary ;  such  as 
to  grow  old,  or  to  die.     That  which  is  accidental,  how- 
ever, similarly  takes  place  in  things  unjust  and  just.     For 
if  a  man  returns  a  deposit  unwillingly,  and  from  fear,  he 
cannot  be  said  either  to  perform  a  just  deed,   or  to  act 
justly ;  except  from  accident.     In  a  similar  manner  he 
who,  from  compulsion  and  unwillingly,  does  not  return  a 
deposit,  must  be  said  to  be  unjust,  and  to  do  an  unjust 
deed  from  accident.      But  of  voluntary  actions,  some 
indeed  we  perform  with  previous  choice,  and  others  with- 
out previous  choice ;  with  previous  choice,  such  as  have 
been  the  subjects  of  previous  deliberation,  but  without  it, 
such  as  have  not  been  deliberated  on  previously. 


180 


THE   NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  V. 


Since,  therefore,  there  are  three  kinds  of  harm  in 
social   communion,  those  which  are  accompanied  with 
ignorance  are  errors,  when  a  man  neither  apprehends 
who  the  person  that  is  injured  is,  nor  the  mode,  nor  the 
instrument,  nor  that  for  the  sake  of  which  the  harm  is 
done.     For  in  this  case,  he  will  think  either  that  he  has 
not  struck  the  person,  or  not  with  this  instrument,  or 
not  this  person,  or  not  on  this  account,  but  something 
else  happened  different  from  what  he  expected.     Thus 
one   man   may  strike  another  not  for  the  purpose   of 
wounding,  but  of  stimulating  him,  and  in  so  doing  may 
accidentally  wound  him ;  or  he  may  not  strike  the  person 
whom  he  intended  to  strike,  or  not  in  the  way  he  intend- 
M  ed.     When,  therefore,  harm  is  done  unintentionally,  it  is 
\  a  misfortune ;  but  when  it  is  done  not  unintentionally,  yet 
/  without  vice,  it  is  an  error.     For  a  man  then  errs,  when 
the  principle  of  the  cause  is  in  himself;  but  he  is  unfor- 
tunate when  the  principle  is  external  to  him.     When, 
however,  harm  is  done  knowingly,  but  without  previous 
deliberation,  it  is  a  deed  unjustly  done  ;  as  for  instance, 
-whatever  happens  to  men  through  anger,  or  other  pas- 
sions  which  are  necessary  or  natural.     For  those  who 
injure  others,  and  err  through  the  influence  of  these  pas- 
sions, act  indeed  unjustly,  and  their  deeds  are  unjustly 
done ;  nevertheless  they  are  not  yet  unjust  on  account  of 
these  actions,  nor  depraved ;  for  the  harm  which  they 
did  was  not  through  depravity.     But  when  a  man  injures 
another  from  deliberate  choice,  he  is  unjust  and  depraved- 
Hence,  those  deeds  which  are  the  effect  of  anger  are  well 
judged  not  to  be  the  result  of  previous  design.      For  the 
principle  of  action  is  not  inWm  who  is  angry,  but  in  him 
who  excited  his  anger.     Again,  [when  one  man  hurts 
another  from  anger]  there  is  no  controversy  about  the 


CH^P.  VIII. 


ETHICS. 


181 


deed,  as  to  its  having  been  done,  but  about  the  justice  of 
it ;  for  anger  is  excited  on  account  of  apparent  injustice. 
For  here  there  is  no  controversy  about  the  existence  of 
the  thing,  as  there  is  in  contracts,  in  which  it  is  necessary 
that  one  of  the  contractors  should  be  a  depraved  charac- 
ter, unless  his  conduct  is  the  effect  of  oblivion ;  but 
acknowledging  the  fact,  they  controvert  the  justice  of  it. 
He,  however,  who  hurts  another  person  deliberately,  is 
not  ignorant  of  the  deed.  Hence,  the  one  of  these  thinks 
he  is  injured,  but  the  other  thinks  he  is  not.  But  he 
who  does  harm  to  another  person  from  deliberate  choice, 
acts  unjustly  ;  and  he  who  injures  another,  according  to 
those  deeds  which  are^  done  unjustly,  is  unjust,  when  he 
acts  contrary  to  proportion,  or  to  the  equal.  In  a  simi- 
lar manner  also,  he  is  just  when  he  acts  justly  from  pre- 
vious choice ;  but  he  acts  justly,  if  he  only  acts  willingly. 
Of  involuntary  actions,  however,  some  deserve  to  be  par- 
doned, but  others  do  not.  For  such  involuntary  errors 
as  are  not  only  committed  ignorantly,  but  also  through 
ignorance,  deserve  to  be  pardoned  ;  but  such  as  are  not 
committed  through  ignorance,  but  ignorantly,  yet  from 
passion  neither  natural  nor  human,  do  not  deserve  to  be 
pardoned. 


182 


THE  NICOMACHKAN 


BOOK  V. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Ir  may,  however,  be  doubted  whether  a  distinction 
has  been  sufficiently  made  by  us,  between  being  injured, 
and  injuring.     In  the  first  place,  indeed,  if  the  thing  is  as 
Euripides  asserts  it  to  be,  when  he  absurdly  says,  "  To 
speak  briefly  I  may  kill  my  mother,  both  of  us  being  will- 
ing ;  or  I  being  unwilling,  and  she  willing.'*     For  is  it 
true  or  not,  that  a  person  can  be  willingly  injured  ?     Or 
is  every  one  unwillingly  injured,  in  the  same  manner  as 
every  one  who  does  an  injury  does  it  willingly  ?     Or  do 
some  persons  suffer  an  injury  voluntarily,  and  others 
involuntarily  ?     And  a  similar  inquiry  may  also  be  made 
with  respect  to  obtaining  justice ;    for  to  act  justly  is 
wholly  a  voluntary  thing.     Hence,  the  being  injured  and 
obtaining  justice,'  are  deservedly  opposed   in  a  similar 
maimer  to  each  other,  so  that  they  are  either  voluntary 
or  involuntary.     It  may,  however,  appear  to  be  absurd, 
that  in  obtaining  justice,  the  whole  should  be  voluntary ; 
for  some  persons  obtain  justice  unwillingly.      And  this 
also    may  be  doubted,  whether  every  one  who  suffers 
something   unjust   is  injured;    or  whether  as  it   is  in 
acting,  so  it  is  in  suffering  ?     For  it  is  possible  in  both 
these  to  obtain  what  is  just  from  accident.     And  it  is  evi- 
dent that  the  like  may  also  take  place  in  things  unjust.  For 
it  is  not  the  same  thing,  to  do  unjust  things,  and  to  do  an 


-CHAP*  ix. 


ETHICS. 


183 


injury;  nor  is  it  the  same  thing  to  suffer  unjust  things,  and 
to  be  injured.  The  like  also  takes  place  in  acting  justly 
snd  obtaining  justice.  For  it  is  impossible  to  be  injured 
unless  there  is  some  one  who  does  the  injury;  or  to 
obtain  justice,  unless  there  is  some  one  who  acts  justly^ 
But  if  to  do  an  injury  is  simply  to  hurt  some  one  will- 
ingly, and  to  hurt  willingly  is  to  do  so  knowing  the  per- 
son who  is  hurt,  and  the  instrument,  and  the  manner  in 
which  he  is  hurt;  but  the  intemperate  man  willingly 
hurts  himself;  if  this  be  the  case,  he  will  be  voluntarily 
injured,  and  it  will  be  possible  for  a  man  to  injure  him- 
self.  This,  however,  is  also  one  of  the  things  which  are 
dubious,. whether  it  is  possible  for  a  man  to  injure  him. 
self.  Farther  still,  a  man  may  vaiuntarily,  through  in- 
temperance, be  injured  by  another  person;  so  that  it 
will  be  possible  for  a  man  to  be  injured  voluntarily.  Or 
shall  we  say  that  the  definition  [which  we  have  given  of 
doing  an  injury,  viz.  that  it  is  to  hurt  some  one  volunta.- 
rily,]  is  not  right,  but  we  must  add  the  words,  to  hurtj 
knowhig  the  person  xcho  is  hurt^  and  the  instrument,  and 
the  manner  in  xvhich  he  is  hm%  contrary  to  his  will  ?  A 
man,  therefore,  may  be  hurt,  and  suffer  unjust  things 
willingly ;  but  no  one  is  willingly  injured.  For  no  one 
wishes  to  be  injured,  not  even  the  intemperate  man  ;  but 
he  acts  contrary  to  his  will.  For  neither  does  any  one 
wish  for  that  which  he  does  not  fancy  to  be  good ;  but 
the  intemperate  man  does  that,  which  he  does  not  think 
ought  to  be  done.  But  he  who  gives  what  is  his  own,  as 
Homer  says  Glaucus  gave  to  Diomed, 

For  DIomed's  brass  arms  of  mean  device^ 
For  which  nine  oxen  paid,  a  vulgar  price. 
He  gave  his  own  of  gold  divinely  wrought, 
A  hundred  beeves  tlie  shining  purchase  bought, 


184 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


-BOOK  V» 


IS  not  injured  ;  for  it  is  in  his  power  to  give  [or  not  to 
give.]  But  to  be  injured  is  not  in  his  power,  but  it  is 
necessary  that  the  person  should  exist  by  whom  the 
injury  is  done.  Concerning  the  being  injured,  there- 
fore, it  is  evident  that  it  is  not  voluntary. 

Of  those  things,  however,  which  we  proposed  to  dis- 
cuss, two  particulars  remain  to  be  explained  ;  whether 
he  does  an  injury  who  distributes  to  another  person  more 
than  he  deserves,  or  the  person  who  receives  the  distri- 
bution. For  if  what  we  before  observed  is  possible,  and 
he  who  distributes,  but  not  he  who  possesses  more,  does 
the  injury,  if  any  one  distributes  to  another  more  than  to 
himself,  knowingly  and  willingly,  he  will  himself  injure 
himself ;  which  modest  men  appear  to  do.  For  a  worthy 
man  distributes  less  to  himself  than  to  others.  Or  shall  we 
say  that  neither  is  this  thing  simple  ?  For  he  who  dis- 
tributes less  to  himself  than  to  others  f  of  certain  good 
things,]  will  vindicate  to  himself  more  of  some  other 
good,  if  it  should  so  happen ;  as  for  instance,  of  renown, 
or  of  that  which  is  simply  beautiful  in  conduct.  Again, 
the  doubt  is  also  dissolved  from  the  definition  of  doing 
an  injury  ;  for  he  who  does  it,  suffers  nothing  contrary 
to  his  will.  Hence  he  is  not,  on  this  account,  injured  ; 
but  even  admitting  that  he  is,  he  is  only  hurt.  It  is  also 
evident  that  he  who  distributes  [more  than  the  receiver 
deserves,]  does  an  injury,  but  not  the  receiver.  For  it  is 
not  the  person  in  whom  injustice  is  inherent  who  does  the 
injury,  but  he  to  whom  to  do  this  is  voluntary ;  but  this  is 
the  man  from  whom  the  principle  of  the  action  proceeds, 
which  is  in  the  distributor,  but  not  in  the  receiver. 

"Farther  still,  since  to  act  is  predicated  multifariously,  and 


CHAP.  IX. 


ETHICS. 


18J 


things  inanimate  in  a  certain  respect  kill,  the  hand  as  well 
as  the  servant  by  the  command  of  his  master  j  these  indeed 
do  not  act  injuriously,  but  they  do  unjust  things.    Again, 
if  a  man  being  indeed  ignorant  judges,  he  does  not  do  an 
injury  according  to  the  legally  just,  nor  is  his  judgment 
unjust,  yet  in  a  certain  respect  it  is  unjust.     For   the 
legally  just  differs  from  the  first  justice,  [or  that  which 
has  a  natural  subsistence.]     But  if  he  should  judge  un- 
justly knowingly,  he  will  vindicate  to  himself  more  either 
lof  favour,  or  of  vengeance.     As,  therefore,  if  some  one 
should  partake  of  a  deed  unjustly  done,  thus  also  he  who 
oii  account  of  these  things  judges  unjustly,  will  possess 
more;  for  in  those  things  he  who  adjudges  a  field  to 
another  person,  receives  in  return,  not  a  field,  but  money. 
Men,  however,  are  of  opinion  that  it  is  in  their  power  to 
do  an  injury,  and  that  on  this  account  it  is  easy  to  be 
just.     But  it  is  not  so  ;  for  to  have  connexion  with  the 
wife  of  a  neighbour,  to  strike  another  person,  and  to 
give   money   with   the   hand,  are  things  easy,   and   in, 
the  power  of  those  who  do  them ;  but  to  do  these  things 
with  a  certain  disposition  of  mind,'  is  neither  easy,  nor  in 
the  power  of  those  who  do  them.     In  a  similar  manner, 
also,  the  multitude  fancy  that  there  is  no  portion  of  wis- 
dom in  knowing  what  is  just,  and  what  is  unjust,  because 
it  is  not  difficult  to  understand  those  things  about  which 
the  laws  speak.     These  things,  however,  are  not  just, 
except  from  accident,  but  they  are  then  just,  when  they 
are  performed  after  a  certain  manner,  and  distributed 
after  a  certain  manner.     But  this  is  a  greater  work  thai^ 

'  In  order  to  be  unjust,  it  is  not  sufficient  merely  to  do  an  injury, 
but  it  is  also  requisite  that  it  should  be  done  with  promptitude  and 
delight.  For  this  disposition  of  mind  likewise,  habit  is  necessary, 
which  is  not  Required  without  difiiculty  and  length  of  time. 


18G 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  V. 


to  know  things  that  are  salubrious.  For  there,  indeed, 
it  is  easy  to  know  honey  and  wine,  and  hellebore,  and 
burning  and  cutting  ;  but  how  it  is  necessary  to  distri- 
bute these,  in  order  to  produce  health,  and  to  whom,  and 
when  they  are  to  be  distributed,  is  as  great  a  work  as  to 
be  a  physician.  On  this  very  account  the  multitude 
fancy  that  it  is  no  less  the  province  of  a  just  [than  of  an 
unjust]  man,  to  do  an  injury ;  because  the  just  man  is  no 
less,  but  is  even  more  able  to  do  each  of  these,  [than  the 
unjust  man.]  For  according  to  them,  a  just  man  may 
have  connexion  with  the  wife  of  another  man,  and  may 
strike  another  person,  and  a  brave  man  may  throw  away 
his  shield,  and  betaking  himself  to  flight  may  run  where 
he  pleases.  To  act  cowardly,  however,  and  to  do  an 
injury,  is  not  merely  to  do  these  things,  except  from 
accident,  but  it  consists  in  doing  them  with  a  certain  dis- 
position of  mind  [i.  e.  with  promptitude  and  delight ;] 
just  as  to  perform  the  office  of  a  physician,  and  to  restore 
to  health,  does  not  merely  consist  in  cutting,  or  not  cutr 
ting,  in  giving  or  not  giving  medicine,  but  in  doing  these 
after  a  certain  manner.  But  just  things  subsist  among 
those  with  whom  there  is  a  participation  of  things  which 
aye  simply  good ;  and  in  these  there  is  also  excess  and 
defect.  For  to  some  beings,  as  perhaps  to  the  gods, 
justice  is  not  a  good,  because  in  them  there  is  no  excess, 
[or  deficiency ;]  but  to  others,  as  to  men  incurable  and 
vicious,  no  part  of  things  simply  good  is  beneficial,  but 
all  of  them  are  noxious  ;  and  to  others  they  are  useful  to 
a  certain  extent ;  and  on  this  account  justice  is  a  human 
-  good. 


PHAP.  X, 


CTHICS, 


18' 


CHAPTER  X, 


It   now  follows   that   we   should   speak   concerning 
equity,  and  the  equitable,  and  show  how  equity,  indeed, 
subsists  with  reference  to  justice,  and  the  equitable  with 
reference  to  the  just ;  for  to  those  who  consider  rightly, 
the  equitable  appears  to  be  neither  simply  the  same,  nor 
yet  different  in  genus  from  the  just.     And  at  one  time, 
indeed,  we  praise  the  equitable,  and  the  man  of  equity ; 
so  that,  also,  transferring  this  name  to  other  things,  we 
praise  a  man  by  calling  him  a  more  equitable^  instead  of 
a  good  man,  manifesting  by  this,  that  it  is  a  better  appel- 
lation.    But  at  another  time,  to  those  who  follow  reason, 
it  appears  to  be  absurd,  that  the  equitable,  if  it  is  some- 
thing different  from  the  just,  should  be  laudable.     For 
either  the  just  is  not  a  worthy  thing,  or  the  equitable  is 
not  just,  if  it  is  different  from  the  just ;  or  if  they  arc 
both  worthy  things,  both  are  the   same.     The  doubt^ 
therefore,    concerning   the    equitable,    nearly    happens 
through  these  particulars.     All  these,  however,  are  after 
a  certain  manner  right,  and  there  is  nothing  in  them 
>vhich  is  contrary  and  adverse  to  itself.     For  the  equita- 


188 


THE    NICOMACH£AN 


BOOK  V. 


ble  being  something  that  is  just,  is  a  better  just  thing;  and 
is  not  better  than  the  just,  as  if  it  were  some  other  genus. 
The  just,  therefore,  and  the  equitable  are  the  same  thing; 
and  both  of  them  being  wonhy  things,  the  equitable  is 
the  more  excellent  of  the  two.     A  doubt,  however,  still 
remains,  that  though  the  equitable  is  indeed  just,  yet  it  is 
not  the  legally  just,  but  is  a  correction  of  it.      But  the 
cause  of  this  is,  that  every  law,  indeed,  is  universal ;  but 
it  cannot  speak  universally  with  rectitude  about  certain 
particulars.     In  those  things,  therefore,  in  which  it  is  ne- 
cessary to  speak  universally,  but  in  which  this  cannot  be 
done  rightly,  the  law  assumes  that  which  happens  for  the 
most  part,  not  being  ignorant  of  the  fault  which  has  been 
committed.     And  in  thus  doing,  it  acts  no  less  rightly ; 
for  the  fault  is  not  in  the  law,  nor  in  the  legislator,  but  in 
the  nature  of  the  thing  ;  for  such  directly  is  the  matter 
of  the  things  which  pertain  to  action.     When  the  law, 
therefore,  speaks  universally,  and  something  after   this 
should  happen  besides,  then  it  is  right  to  correct  what  the 
legislator  has  omitted,  and  the  error  which  he  has  com- 
mitted in  speaking  simply,  since  the  legislator  himself 
would  adopt  such  correction  if  he  were   present,    and 
would  have  legally  established  this  if  he  had  known  it. 
Hence,  the  equitable  is  just,  and  is  better  than  a  certain 
justice.     It  is  not,  however,  better  than  what  is  simply 
just,  but  it  is  better  than  the  justice  which  errs  through 
\speaking  simply  [and  generally.]     And  this  is  the  nature 
(of  the  equitable,  that  it  is  a  correction  of  law,  where  law 
|s  deficient  on  account  of  speaking  universally.     For  this 
is  the  cause  why  all  things  are  not  according  to  law,  that 
concerning  certain  things  it  is  impossible  to  establish  a 
|aw.     Hence,  a  decree  is  necessary  ;  for  of  the  indefinite 
the  rule  also  is  indefinite,  just  as  of  a  Lesbian  building 


CHAF.  XI. 


ETHICS. 


189 


the  rule  is  leaden  ;  since  the  rule  is  bent  conformable  to 
the  figure  of  the  stone,  and  does  not  remain  the  same. 
Thus,  also,  a  decree  is  adapted  to  things  themselves.     It 
is  evident,  therefore,  what  the  equitable  and  the  just  are, 
and  what  the  justice  is  which  the  equitable  excels.     It  is 
likewise  manifest  from  this  who  is  an   equitable  man* 
For  he  who  deliberately  chooses  and  practises  things  of 
this  kind,  and  who  is  not  an  accurate  distributor  of  justice 
in  the  rigid  sense  of  the  word,  but  remits  something  of 
the  rigour  of  the  law,  though  the  law  is  favourable  to 
such  rigour,  is  an  equitable  man.      And  the  habit  itself 
is  equity,    being   a  certain  justice  and  not  a  different 
habit. 


CHAPTER  XL 


From  what  has  been  said,  also,  it  is  evident  whether  it 
16  possible  for  a  man  to  injure  himself  or  not.  For  there 
are  some  just  things  established  by  law,  which  pertain  to 
the  whole  of  virtue.  Thus,  for  instance,  the  law  does 
not  order  a  man  to  destroy  himself ;  and  it  forbids  what 


190 


THE     NICOMACHEAi^t 


l30e)K  Vh 


it  does  not  command.  Again,  when  one  man  hurts  ano^ 
ther  contrary  to  law.  who  has  not  hurt  him,  he  does  an 
injury  willingly  j  but  he  does  an  injury  willingly,  who 
does  It  knowing  the  person  whom  he  injures,  and  the 
.^  instrument,  and  the  manner  in  which  he  does  it.  But  he 
\  who  destroys  himself  through  anger,  does  this  willingly 
/contrary  to  right  reason,  which  the  law  does  not  permit. 
Hence,  he  does  an  injury;  but  to  whom?  Is  it  not  to 
the  city,  but  not  to  himself?  For  he  voluntarily  suffers; 
but  no  one  is  voluntarily  injured.  Hence,  also,  the  city 
punishes  him,  and  a  certain  disgrace  is  attached  to  him 
who  destroys  himself,  as  one  who  injures  the  city.  Farther 
still,  it  is  not  possible  for  a  man  to  injure  himself  in  that 
way  in  which  he  is  unjust,  who  only  acts  unjustly,  and  is 
not  entirely  depraved ;  for  this  character  is  different  from 
him.  For  the  unjust  man  is  in  a  certain  respect  so  de- 
praved, as  the  timid  man  is  ;  but  not  as  possessing 
the  whole  of  depravity.  Hence,  neither  according  to  this 
improbity  does  he  do  himself  an  injury  ;  for  if  he  did, 
the  same  thing  might  be  taken  away  and  added  at  the 
same  time  to  the  same  thing  ;  but  this  is  impossible.  It 
is,  however,  necessary  that  the  just  and  the  unjust  should 
always  exist  in  more  than  one  person.  Again,  he  who  does 
an  injury  does  it  voluntarily,  and  from  deliberate  choice, 
and  with  a  precedency  in  time*  For  he  who  injures  ano- 
ther because  he  has  been  injured  by  him,  does  not  appear 
to  act  unjustly ;  but  he  who  injures  himself,  suffers  and 
does  the  same  things  at  the  same  time.  Farther  still,  a 
man  would  be  injured  willingly.  To  which  may  be 
added,  that  no  one  does  an  injury  without  a  particular 
species  of  injustice ;  but  no  one  commits  adultery  with 
his  own  wife,  nor  does  any  one  dig  through  his  own  wall, 
nor  commit  a  theft  on  his  own  property.     In  short,  the 


iifr  i'Wiiir'"-'*'^'^^'^'---'^--""*^-^-*"'*"'---^ 


CHAP.  XI. 


ETHICS* 


191 


impossibility  that  a  man  should  injure  himself  is  evident 
from  the  conclusions  made  by  us  respecting  the  being 
roluntarily  injured.     It  is  likewise  evident,  that  both  to 
be  injured  and  to  injure  are  bad  things  ;  for  the  one  is  to 
have  less,  but  the  other  more  than  the  medium  ;  in  the 
same   manner  as  the  salubrious  in  medicine,  and   that 
which  contributes  to  a  good  habit  of  body  in  the  gym- 
nastic  art.     At  the  same  time,  however,  it  is  worse  to 
injure  [than  to  be  injured.]     For  to  do  an  injury  is  ac^ 
companied  with  vice,  and  is  blameable ;  and  with  vice 
which  is  either  perfect,  and  simply  vice,  or  nearly  so. 
For  not  every  thing  which  is  voluntary  is  accompanied 
with  injustice;  but  to  be  injured   is  without   vice  and 
injustice.     Essentially,   therefore,    it  is    less   bad  to   be 
injured  than  to  do  an  injury ;  but  from  accident  nothing 
prevents  it  from  being  a  greater  evil.     Art,  however, 
pays  no  attention  to  this ;  but  it  says  that  the  pleurisy  is 
a  greater  disease  than  a  lame  foot,  though  it  may  hap- 
pen  that   the  latter   may   be   a  greater  evil   than   the 
former,  if  a  man,  in  consequence  of  being  lame,  should 
fall,  and  thus  be  taken  by  enemies,  and  put  to  death. 
Metaphorically  speaking,  however,  and  from  similitude, 
the  whole  man  is  not  just  to  the  whole  of  himself,  but  | 
one  part  of  him  towards  another  part ;  yet  not  accord-  r 
ing  to  every  kind  of  justice,  but  according  to  the  des- 1 
potic,  or  economic  ;  for  in  these  discussions,  it  must  be  • 
admitted   that   the   rational  differs   from   the  irrational 
part  of  the  soul.     And  if  we  look  to  these,  it  appears 
that  there  is  a  certain  injustice  of  a  man  towards  him- 
self, because  it  is  possible  in   these  parts  for   a   man 
to  suffer  something  adverse  to  his  own  appetites.     As, 
therefore,  between  a  governor  and  him  who  is  governed, 


192 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  Vi 


there  is  a  certain  justice  towards  each  other,  this  is  also 
the  case  between  these  parts  of  the  soul.  After  this  man- 
ner, therefore,  we  have  discussed  justice,  and  the  other 
ethical  virtues. 


THE 


NICOMACHEAN    ETHICS, 


BOOK  VI. 


CHAPTER  I. 


rxf* 


I 


Since,  however,  we  have  before  observed  that  it  is 
necessary  the  medium  [in  conduct]  should  be  chosen, 
and  neither  excess  nor  deficiency,  but  the  medium  is  [to 
act]  as  right  reason  prescribes,  let  us  now  consider  what 
right  reason  is.  For  in  all  the  above-mentioned  habits, 
as  in  other  things,  there  is  a  certain  scope,  to  which  he 
who  possesses  reason,  looking,  acts  with  intension  and 
remission;  and  there  is  a  certain  boundary  of  media, 
w^hich  w^e  say  are  situated  between  excess  and  defect,  and 
which  exist  conformably  to  right  reason.  Thus,  to  speak, 
however,  is  indeed  true,  but  is  not  at  all  clear.  For  in 
AfisL  VOL,  II.  N 


1 


210 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VI. 


CHAP.  n. 


ETHICS. 


211 


other  pursuits,  also,  with  which  science  is  conversant,  it 
IS,  indeed,  true  to  say  that  it  is  not  proper  to  labour 
either  more  or  less,  nor  to  be  indolent,  but  to  labour 
moderately,  and  as  right  reason  prescribes.     He,  how- 
ever, who  alone  knows  this,  will  know  nothing  more ;  as, 
if  on  inquiring  what  kind  of  things  are  to  be  administered 
to  the  body,  it  should  be  said,  they  are  such  as  medicine 
and  he  who  possesses  the  medical  art  prescribe.     Hence,* 
it  is  necessary  with  respect  to  the  habits  of  the  soul, 
that  this  should  not  only  be  truly  said,  but  that  it  should 
also  be  definitely  shown  what  right  reason  is,  and  what 
Us  the   definition  of  it.     But   we   have   distributed  the 
^virtues  of  the  soul,  and  have  said,  that  some  of  them 
are  ethical,  and  others  dianoetical  [or  belonging  to  the 
discursive  power   of  the  soul.]     With  respect   to  the 
ethical  virtues,  therefore,  we  have  indeed  discussed  them ; 
but  with  respect  to  the  remaining  virtues,  these  we  shall 
discuss,  after  we  have  first  spoken  concerning  the  soul. 
It  has,  therefore,  been  before  observed  by  us,  that  there 
are  two  parts  of  the  soul,  that  which  possesses  reason, 
and  that  which  is  irrational.     But  now  we  shall  make  a 
division  after  the  same  manner  of  the  part  which  pos- 
sesses reason;  and  it  must  be  admitted  that  there  are  two 
parts  possessing  reason ;  one,  indeed,  by  which  we  sur- 
vey those  kind  of  beings,  the  principles  of  which  cannot 
subsist  otherwise  than  they  do,  and  the  other,  by  which 
we  survey  things  of  a  contingent  nature.     For  since  the 
objects  of  knowledge  are  specifically  different,  it  follows 
that  there  are,  also,  different  species  of  knowledge.     For 
k  is  necessary  that  knowledge  should  be  similar  to  the 
thing  known,  and  that  the  knowledge  of  that  which  is 
necessary  should  be  necessary,  but  contingent  of  that 
which  is  contingent.    For  all  knowledge  subsists  accord- 


ing to  similitude  and  affinity  ;  since  it  Is  a  certain  adapta- 
tion and  contact  of  that  which  is  known,  and  that  which 
knows.  But  of  these  parts  of  the  soul,  the  one  is  called 
scientific,  but  the  other  ratiocinative ;  for  to  consult  and 
reason  are  the  same  thing.  No  one,  however,  consults 
about  things  which  cannot  subsist  otherwise  than  they 
do ;  so  that  the  ratiocinative  power  is  one  certain  part  of 
the  rational  part  of  the  soul.  It  must,  therefore,  be 
show^n  what  is  the  best  habit  of  each  of  these.  For  this 
16  the  virtue  of  each.  But  virtue  is  referred  to  its  pro- 
per work. 


CHAPTER    II. 


There  are,  however,  three  things  in  the  soul,  which  f 
have  dominion  over  action  and  truth,  viz.  sense,  intellect,  1 
and  appetite.     But  of  these,  sense  is  the  principle  of  no  ^ 
one  action ;  which  is  evident  from  this,  that  brutes  have, 
indeed,  sense,  but  have  no  communion  with  action  [so 
as  to  have  dominion  over  it. ']     What,  however,  affirma- 
tion and  negation  are  in  the  discursive  energy  of  the 
rational  part,  that  pursuit  and  avoidance  are  in  appetite, 

'  For  this  pertains  to  beings  who  are  capable  of  deliberate 
clioice. 


I 


212 


THE    NieOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VI. 


CHAP.  Ill, 


ETHICS. 


213 


/  Hence,  since  ethical  virtue  is  a  habit  accompanied  with 
deliberate  choice,  but  deliberate  choice  is  an  appetite 
adapted  to  consultation;  hence,  it  is  necessary  that  reason 
should  be  true,  and  the  appetite  right,  if  the  deliberate 
choice  is  good,  and  that  the  one  should  assert,  and  the 
other  pursue  the  same  things.     This  discursive  energy 
cf  the  soul,  therefore,   [by  which  we  judge  that  some- 
thing is  to  be  desiredj  is  practical  reason,  and  practical 
truth.     But  of  the  discursive  energy  of  reason  which  is 
contemplative,  and  neither  practical  nor  effective,  the 
good  and  the  evil  are  truth  and  falsehood ;  for  this  is  the 
work  of  the  whole  of  the  discursive  power.     The  work, 
however,  of  the  practical,  and  at  the  same  time  discursive 
energy  of  reason,  is  truth  subsisting  in  concord  with 
right    appetite.      The   principle,    therefore,    of   action, 
whence  motion  is  derived,  is  deliberate  choice,  though 
this  principle  is  not  the  final  cause  of  action.     But  appe- 
tite, and  that  reason  which  is  for  the  sake  of  something, 
[or  which  is  directed  to  the  final  cause]  are  the  principles 
of  deliberate  choice.     Hence,  deliberate  choice   is  not 
without  intellect,  and  the  discursive  energy  of  reason ; 
nor  is  it  without  the  ethical  habit ;  for  good  conduct, 
and  the  contrary  to  it  in  action,  are  not  without  the  dis- 
cursive energy  of  reason  and  manners.     The  discursive 
energy,  however,  of  reason  itself,   does  not  move  any 
thing,  except  that  which  is  for  the  sake  of  something, 
and  is  practical ;  since  this  has  dominion  over  that  which 
is  effective.     For  every  one  who  effects  any  thing,  does 
it  for  the  sake  of  something  ;  and  that  which  is  effected 
is  not  simply  the  end,  but  is  a  relative  and  pertains  to 
something,  though  this  is  not  the  case  with  that  which 
is  practicable.     For  good  conduct  is  the  end  of  action  ; 
but  appedte  is  directed  to  the  end.     Hence,  deliberatg 


,  choice  is  either  orectic  intellect,  or  appetite  possessing  a 
1  discursive  energy  ;  and  man  is  a  principle  of  this  kind. 
Nothing,  however,  that  has  been  done  is  an  object  of  de- 
liberate choice.  Thus,  for  instance,  no  one  deliberately 
chooses  to  subvert  Troy  ;  for  neither  does  any  one  deli- 
berate about  what  is  past,  but  about  that  which  is  future 
and  contingent.  But  it  is  not  possible  that  what  has  been 
done  should  not  be  done.     Hence,  Agatho  says  rightly. 

All  things  to  God  are  possible  but  one, 
That  to  undo  which  is  already  done. 

Of  both  the  intellective  parts,  therefore,  the  work  is 
truth.  Hence,  those  habits  according  to  which  each  of 
these  parts  enunciates  the  truth  are  the  virtues  of  both. 


CHAPTER  III. 


Assuming,  therefore,  a  more  elevated  exordium,  let 
us  again  speak  concerning  these  virtues.  Let,  therefore, 
the  habits  by  which  the  soul  enunciates  truth  in  aiSrming 
or  denying,  be  five  in  number.  But  these  are  art,  science, 
prudence,  wisdom,  and  intellect ;  for  it  is  possible  that  both 
hi/polepsis '  and  opinion  may  assert  what  is  false.    What 

'  As  dianoia  is  the  discursive  or  syllogistic  energy  of  the  soul  y 


214 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VT. 


science  therefore  is,  will  be  from  hence  evident,  if  it  is 
necessary  to  investigate  accurately,  and  not  to  folkw 
similitudes.  For  all  of  us  are  of  opinion  that  it  is  not 
possible  for  that  which  we  know  scientifically  to  subsist 
otherwise  than  it  does.  But  with  respect  to  things  which 
may  subsist  otherwise,  of  these  when  rhey  are  out  of  our 
^  view  we  are  ignorant  whether  they  exist  or  not.  The 
object  of  scientific  knowledge,  therefore,  is  from  neces- 
sity. Hence,  it  is  eternal.  For  all  beings  which  are 
simply  from  necessity  are  eternal  j  but  things  eternal  are 
without  generation  and  incorruptible.  Again,  all  science 
appears  to  be  capable  of  being  taught,  and  the  object  of 
scientific  knowledge  may  be  obtained  by  discipline.  But 
all  doctrine  is  produced  from  things  previously  known, 
as  we  have  said  in  the  Analytics ;  for  it  partly  subsists 
through  induction,  and  partly  from  syllogism.  Induc- 
tion, therefore,  is  indeed  a  principle,  and  the  principle  of 
universal ; '  but  syllogism  is  from  universal.  The  princi- 
pies,  therefore,  from  which  syllogism  consists,  are  things 
of  which  there  is  no  syllogism.*  Hence,  they  are 
obtained  by  induction.  Science,  therefore,  is  indeed  a 
demonstrative  habit,  and  such  other  things  as  we  have 
added  to  the  definition  of  it  in  the  Analytics.  For  when 
a  man  believes  that  a  thing  is  after  a  certain  manner,  ^  and 

ht/polepsis  IS  the  assent  of  the  soul  to  each  term  of  a  syllogistic 
process;  and  opinion  is  the  assent  of  the  soul  to  the  conclusion  solely 
of  a  syllogism. 

Viz.  So  far  as  it  excites  the  perception  of  the  universal  which 
is  latent  in  the  soul. 

*  Viz.  The  knowledge  of  ihem  is  not  obtained  by  a  syllogistic 
process. 

Viz,  When  he  believes  that  the  thing  cannot  subsist  otherwise 
than  it  does. 


CHAP.  IV, 


ETHICS. 


215 


the  principles  of  it  are  known  to  him,  he  has  a  scientific 
knowledge  of  that  thing.  For  if  the  principles  are  not 
more  known  to  him  than  the  conclusion,  he  will  have  a 
scientific  knowledge  from  accident.  Let  these  things, 
therefore,  be  admitted  concerning  science. 


CHAPTER    IV, 


Of  that,  however,  which  may  subsist  otherwise  than 
it  does,  [or  which  has  a  various  subsistence,  and  is  con^ 
tingent,]  there  is  something  which  is  effective,  and  some- 
thing which  is  practicable.  But  production  and  action 
differ.  Credibility,  however,  may  be  obtained  concern- 
ing these  things  from  exoteric  discussions;  so  that  the 
practic  habit  in  conjunction  with  reason,  is  different  from 
the  effective,  or  productive  habit  in  conjunction  with 
reason.  And  neither  are  they  contained  by  each  other  j 
for  neither  is  action  effection ;  nor  is  effection  action. 
But  since  the  building  art  is  a  habit  effective  in  conjunc* 
tion  with  reason,  and  neither  is  there  any  art  which  is  not 
a  habit  effective  in  conjunction  with  reason,  nor  any  such 
habit  which  is  not  art ;  art  and  habit  effective  in  conjunc-. 
tion  with  true  reason  will  be  the  same.  All  art,  however, 
is  conversant  with  generation,  and  machinates  and  con- 


216 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  Vt. 


templates  in  order  that  something  may  be  produced  which 
is  capable  either  of  existing,  or  not  existing ;  and  of 
which  the  principle  is  in  the  maker,  but  not  in  the  thing 
made.  For  art  neither  belongs  to  things  which  necessa- 
rily are,  or  are  necessarily  generated,  nor  to  things  which 
have  a  natural  subsistence ;  for  these  contain  in  them- 
selves the  principle.  Since,  however,  production  and 
action  are  different,  it  is  necessary  that  art  should  pertain 
to  production,  but  not  to  action.  And  after  a  certain 
manner,  fortune  and  art  are  conversant  with  the  same 
things,  as,  also,  Agatho  says. 

Art  fortune  loves,  and  fortune  art. 

Art,  therefore,  as  we  have  said,  is  a  certain  habit  effective 
in  conjunction  with  true  reason.  But  the  privation  of 
art,  on  the  contrary  [or  the  inartificial  habit,]  is  a  habit 
effective  in  conjunction  with  false  reason,  about  that 
which  may  have  a  various  subsistence. 


CHAP.  V. 


ETHICS. 


217 


CHAPTER    V. 


With  respect  to  prudence,  we  shall  apprehend  what 
it  is,  if  we  survey  who  those  are  whom  we  denominate 
prudent  persons.     It  appears,   therefore,  to  be  the  pro- 
vince of  a  prudent  man  to  be  able  to  consult  well  about 
things  which  are  good  and  advantageous  to  him,  not 
partially,  as  about  what  contributes  to  health  or  strength, 
but  about  what   universally  contributes  to  a  happy  life. 
But  this  is  indicated  by  our  calling  men  prudent  about 
any  thing,  when  they  reason  well,  with  a  view  to  some 
worthy  end,  in  things  in  which  there  is  no  art.     So  that, 
.in  short,   he  who  is  adapted   to   consultation  will  be  a 
•prudent  man.     No  one,  however,  consults  about  things 
which  cannot  subsist  otherwise  than  they  do,  nor  about 
things  which  it  is  impossible  for  him  to  perform.  Hence, 
if  science  indeed  subsists  in  conjunction  with  demonstra- 
tion ;  but  of  those  things  of  which  the  principles  may 
have  a  various  subsistence,  of  these  there  is  no  demon- 
stration ;  for  all    these  are   contingent ;  and  if  it  is  not 
possible  to  consult  about  things  which  subsist  from  ne- 
cessity,   prudence    will  neither  be  science  nor  art.     It 
will  not  be  science,  because  that  which  is  practicable  may 
have  a  various  subsistence ;  and  it  will  not  be  art,  be- 
cause the  genus  of  action  is  different  from  the  genus  of 
production.     It  remains,  therefore,  that  it  is  a  true  habit 


218 


THE    NlCOMACIi£AN 


BOOK  VI, 


in  conjunction  with  reason,  practical  about  human  good 
and  evil.     For  the  end  of  production  indeed  is  different 
from  the  production,  but  the  end  of  action  is  not  always 
different  from  action.     Hence  we  are  of  opinion  that  Pe- 
r'cles,  and  such  like  persons,  are  prudent  men,  because 
they  are  able  to  survey  what  is  good  for  themselves,  and 
for  mankind  ;  and  we  also  think  that  economists  and  po^ 
liticians  are  persons  of  this  description.     Hence,  also,  we 
call  temperance  by    this  name,    (/rfo^p^joo-uvrj,  as   pre^ 
serving   prudence  {wg  a-foi^ova-a  rtiv   (f^povriO-iu).     But  it 
preserves  an  opinion  of  this  kind.     For  the  delectable 
and  the  painful  do  not  corrupt  or  distort  every  opinion ; 
such  as  that  a  triangle  has  or  has  not  angles  equal  to  two 
right ;  but  those  opinions  which  pertain  to  what  is  prac^ 
ticable.     For  the  principles  indeed  of  practicable  things 
are  those  things  for  the  sake  of  which  they  are  perform- 
ed.    But  to  him  who  is  corrupted  through   pleasure  or 
pain,  the  principle  is  not  immediately  apparent,  nor  does 
he  perceive,  that  for  the  sake  of  this,  and  through  this, 
it  is  necessary   to  choose  and  perform  all  things.     For 
vice  is  destructive  of  the  principle.     Hence  it  is  necessary 
that  prudence  should  be  a  habit  in  conjunction  with  true 
reason,  practical  about  human  good.     Moreover,  of  art 
indeed  there  is  a  virtue,  but  of  prudence  there  is   not. 
And  in  art,  indeed,  he  who  voluntarily  errs,  is  to  be  pre^ 
Iferred  to  him  who  errs  involuntarily ;  but  in  prudence 
•he  who  voluntarily  errs  is  a  subordinate  character,  in  the 
same  manner  as  in  the  virtues.     It  is  evident,  therefore, 
that  prudence  is  a  certain  virtue,  and  not  art.     But  since 
there  are  two  parts  of  the  rational  soul,  prudence  will  be 
the  virtue  of  the  doxastic  part,  [or  that  part  which  forms 
opinions  of  things].     For  both  opinion  and  prudence  are 
conversant  with  that  which  may  have  a  various  subsistence. 


GHAP.  VI. 


ETHICS. 


219 


Nor  yet  is  prudence  a  habit  alone  in  conjunction  with 
reason;  of  which  this  is  an  indication,  that  there  may  be 
an  oblivion  of  such  a  habit,  [i.  e.  it  may  be  lost  through 
oblivion ;]  but  there  cannot  be  of  prudence. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


Since,  how^ever,  science  is  an  assent  to  untversals  and 
things  which  have  a  necessary  subsistence,  but  there  are 
principles  of  things  demonstrable,  and  of  every  science  ; 
for  science  is  accompanied  with  reason;  this  being  the 
case,  there  will  neither  be  science,  nor  art,  nor  prudence 
of  the  principle  of  the  object  of  science.  For  the  object 
of  science  is  demonstrable ;  but  art  and  prudence  are 
conversant  with  things  which  may  have  a  various  sub- 
sistence ;  neither,  therefore,  will  wisdom  be  that  through 
which  this  principle  is  known  ;  for  it  is  the  province  of  a 
wise  man  to  have  demonstration  about  certain  things. 
Hence,  if  the  habits  by  which  we  enunciate  the  truth, 
and  are  never  deceived  about  things  which  cannot,  or 
which  can  have  a  various  subsistence,  are  science  and 
prudence,  wisdom  and  intellect,  but  no  one  of  these  three, 
can  be  the  habit  by  which  we  know  principles  ;  but 
by  the  three,  I  mean  prudence,  wisdom,  and  science  ;  it 
remains  that  intellect  is  the  habit  by  which  principles  are 
known. 


220 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK    VI. 


CHAP.  vn. 


ETHICS* 


221 


$ 


CHAPTER    VII. 


Z^' 


V 


p^i-*- 


lA- 


We  attribute,  however,  wisdom  in  the  arts,  to  those 
who  are  most  accurately  skilled  in  the  arts.  Thus  we 
say  that  Phidias  was  a  wise  sculptor,  and  Polycletus  a 
\  wise  statuary.  Here,  therefore,  we  signify  nothing  else 
f  by  wisdom,  than  that  it  is  the  virtue  of  art.  But,  in  short, 
we  think  that  certain  persons  are  wise,  not  partially,  and 
that  they  are  not  any  thing  else  than  wise  men,  as  Homer 
says  in  his  Margites, 

The  gods  nor  miner  him,  nor  ploughman  made  ; 
Nor  wise  in  any  thing  beside  ; 

so  that  it  is  evident  that  wisdom  will  be  the  most  accurate 
of  the  sciences.  Hence  it  is  necessary  that  the  wise 
man  should  not  only  know  those  things  which  are  infer- 
red from  principles  [or  the  conclusions  of  scientific  rea- 
soning,] but  that  he  should  also  perceive  and  enunciate 
the  truth  about  principles  themselves.  Wisdom,  there- 
fore, will  be  intellect  and  science,  and  will  possess  as  a 
head  [or  summit]  the  science  of  the  most  honourable 
things,  [i.  e.  of  divine  natures].  For  it  would  be  absurd 
for  any  one  to  fancy  that  the  political  science,  or  pru- 
dence, is  a  thing  of  all  others  the  most  excellent,  unless 


man  is  the  best  of  every  thing  the  world  contains. »     If, 
however,    what  is   salubrious  and  good  is  to  man  one 
thing,  and  another  to  fishes,  but  that  which  is  white  and 
that  which  is  straight  are  always  the  same,'  all  men  will 
acknowledge  that  a  wise  man  is  the  same,  but  the  prudent 
man  is  a  mutable  character.  For  they  will  say  that  the  be- 
ing is  prudent  who  surveys  what  is  excellent  in  particulars 
according  to  the  nature  of  each,  and  to  him  they  will 
commit   these  particulars.      Hence   also  they  say   that 
some  brutes  are  prudent,  viz.  such  as  appear  to  have  a 
providential   power  about  what  pertains  to  their  life.     It 
is  evident,    how^ever,    that  the  political  science  and  wis- 
dom are   not  the   same.     For  if  it  should  be  said  that 
wisdom  is  that  which  is  conversant  with  what  is  useful  to 
mankind,  there  will  be  many,  kinds  of  wisdom ;  since 
there  is  not   one  science  which  is  conversant  with  the 
good  of  all  animals,  but  a  different  science  is  conversant 
with  a  different  good ;  unless  indeed  there  is  one  medical 
science  which  extends   to  all  beings.     Nor  is  it  of  any 
consequence,  if  it  should  be  said  that  man  is  the  most  ex- 
cellent  of  all  other  animals ;  for  there  are  many  animals 
naturally  more  divitie  than  man,  such  as  those  most  ap- 
parent bemgsjrom  'which  the  world  is  composed.'     From 

'  There  are  many,  however,  of  the  present  day  who  are  stupid 
enough  to  think  that  the  world  was  made  for  man  ;  and  that  man, 
according  to  the  rambling  conceptions  of  Young,  is 

«  Midway  from  nothing  to  the  deity.'* 

*  Viz.  the  colour  which  has  the  power  of  dispersing  the  sight, 
is  always  white ;  and  the   line  which  is  the  shortest  between  two 

points,  is  always  a  right  line.  ,     *   .       i  , 

3  Meaning  the   stars,  which,  according  to  both  Aristotle  and 

Plato,  are  divine  animals.     From  this  passage,  and  from  what  li 


2212 


THE    NiCOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VU* 


CHAP.  VIII. 


ETHICS* 


223 


what  has  been  said,   therefore,  it  is  evident  that  wisdom 
is  the  science  and  intellect  of  things  most  honourable  by 
nature.     Hence  the  multitude  say  that  Anaxagoras  and 
Thales,   and    such-like  persons,  were  indeed   wise,  but 
not  prudent  men,  in  consequence  of  perceiving  that  they 
were  ignorant  of  what  was  advantageous  to  them  [with 
respect   to  a   corporeal    life ;]  and  they  say,  that  they 
knew^  indeed  things  superfluous  and  admirable,  difficult 
and  divine,  but  which  are  useless,  because  they  did  not 
investigate  human   good.     Prudence,   however,  is  con- 
versant  with  human  affairs,  and  with  those  things  which 
are  the  subjects  of  consultation  ;  for  we  say  that  this  is 
especially  the  work  of  a  prudent  man,  to  consult  well. 
But  no  one  consults  about  things  which  cannot  subsist 
otherwise  than  they  do,  nor  about  things  of  which  there 
is  not  a  certain  end,  and  this,  practical  good.     He,  how- 
ever,  simply  consults  well,  who  conjectures,  by  a  reason- 
ing  process,    what  is   best   to  man   among   practicable 
things.     Nor  is  prudence  only  directed  to  universal, 
but  it  is  also  necessary  that  it  should  know  particulars ; 
for  it  is  practical ;  but  action  is  conversant  with  particu- 
lars.    Hence,  also,  some  persons  who  have  only  experi- 
mental knowledge  without  science,  are  more  adapted  for 
practical   affairs,  than   those     who    possess  a   scientific 
knowledge  [without  experience].     For  he  who  knows 
that  light  flesh  is  easily  concocted,  but  is  ignorant  what 

more  largely  said  on  this  subject,  by  Aristotle  in  his  Treatise  on 
tne  Heavens,  and  In  the  12th  book  of  his  Metaphysics,  the  audacity 
of  those  moderns  is  wonderful  (if  any  thing  pertaining  to  such  men 
can  be  w<.nderful)  who  have  asserted  that  Aristotle  was  not  a 
polythe.st,  or  a  believer  in  the  existence  of  divine  beings,  the  imme- 
diate  progeny  of  one  first  cause  of  all  things,  and  who,  as  Maxi- 
mus  1  ynus  says, «  are  the  sons  of  God,  ruling  together  with  him/' 


flesh  is  light,  will  not  produce  health  ;  but  he  will  rather 
produce  it  who  knows  that  the  flesh  of  birds  is  light  and 
salubrious.  Prudence,  however,  is  practical ;  so  that  it 
is  necessary  to  possess  both,  [viz.  a  knowledge  of  v.  hat 
is  to  be  done  universally,  and  in  particular  circumstances,] 
or  rather  the  latter  than  the  former.  But  prudence  here 
also  [i.  e.  among  the  practical  powers,]  will  be  a  certain 
architectonic  power  [or  a  power  belonging  to  a  master 
art.] 


CHAPTER  Vlir. 

« 

The  political  science,  however,  and  prudence  are  in- 
deed the  same  habit,  though  they  have  not  the  same 
essence.  But  of  the  science  pertaining  to  a  city,  the  one 
part  which  is  legislative,  is  as  it  were  architectonic  pru- 
dence, but  the  other,  in  the  same  manner  as  particulars, 
is  denominated  by  a  common  name,  the  political  science. 
This,  however,  is  practical,  and  occupied  in  consultation ; 
for  a  decree  is  a  thing  practicable  as  the  extreme.' 
Hence  those  alone  who  possess  the  political  science  are 
said  to  act  in  a  political  capacity  ;  for  they  alone  act  in 
the  same  manner  as  manual  artificers.     That  also  appears 

*  A  decree  {to  ^(purfcu.)  may,  as  Aquinas  observes,  be  called 
(t*  iT^uTct)  the  extreme,  because  it  is  the  application  of  a  law  uni- 
versally established,  to  the  performance  of  particulars. 


v^ 


224. 


THE    NICOMACHFAN 


BOOK  Vl> 


to  be  efipecially  prudence  which  a  man  employs  about 
himself,  and  about  one  thing ;  and  this  is  called  by  a 
common  name,  prudence.  But  of  these  species  of  pru- 
dence,  the  one  is  economy,  another  legislation,  and  ano- 
ther  the  political  science;  and  of  this  last,  one  part 
pertains  to  consultation,  but  another  is  judicial.  For  a 
man,  therefore,  to  know  his  own  concerns  will  be  one 
species  of  knowledge.  Nevertheless,  it  possesses  a  great 
difference.  And  he  who  knows  things  pertaining  to 
himself,  and  is  conversant  with  them,  appears  to  be  a 
prudent  man  ;  but  those  who  apply  themselves  to  the 
management  of  public  affairs,  are  busily  employed  in  a 
multitude  of  concerns.     Hence  also  Euripides  says, 

Hew  can  the  name  of  wise  to  me  belong, 

Who  might  have  mingled  in  the  martial  throng  ;  ^ 

Unvex'd  with  business,  and  exempt  from  care, 

Taking  of  spoils  my  honourable  share  ; 

Yet  chose  by  over-anxious  thought  to  move 

The  direful  hate  of  all-commanding  Jove  ? 

i 

For  these  men  explore  what  is  good  for  themselves,  and 
are  of  opinion  that  it  is  necessary  to  do  this.     From  this 
opinion,  therefore,  it  comes  to  pass  that  these  men  are 
prudent ;  though  perhaps  it  is  not  possible  for  a  man 
to  know  his  own  concerns  without  economic  and  politi-  '*- 
cal  prudence.     Again,  how  a  man  ought  to  manage  his 
own  affairs,  is  a  thing  immanifest,  and  requires  considera- 
tion.    But  as  an  indication  of  the  truth  of  what  has  been 
said,  a  youth  may  become  a  geometrician  and  a  mathe- 
matician, and  may  be  skilled  in  things  of  this  kind  ;  but 
it  does  not  appear  that  he  will  be  prudent.     The  cause, 
however,  of  this  is,  that  prudence  pertains  to  particulars, 
which  become  known  from   experience }  but  youth  is  - 


CHAP.  VIII. 


ETHICS. 


225 


without  experience,  which   is   produced  by  length  of 
time.     Since  this  also  deserves  to  be  considered,  why  a 
boy  may  become  a  mathematician,  but  cannot  be  wise, 
or  a  physiologist ;  shall  we  say  it  is  because  mathema- 
tical objects  subsist  by  an  ablation  from  matter ;  but  the 
principles  of  the  objects   of  wisdom  and  physiology  are 
derived  from  experience  ?     And  with  respect  to   meta- 
physical  principles  indeed,  youth  do  not  believe  in,  but 
admit  them ;  but  with  respect  to  mathematical  principles, 
it  IS  not  immanifest  what  they  are.     Farther  still,  error  in 
consultation  either  pertains  to  universals,  or  particulars. 
For  [in  order  that  a  man  may  not  drink  heavy,  and 
therefore,  bad  water,  it  is  requisite  he  should  know,]  ei- 
ther that  all  heavy  water  is  bad,  or  that  this  particular 
water  is  heavy.     But  it  is  evident  that  prudence  is  not 
science ;  for  it  pertains  to  the  extreme,  as  we  have  before 
observed ;  since  that  which  is  practicable  is  a  thing  of 
this  kind.     It  is,  thepefore,  indeed  opposed  to  intellect. 
;For  intellect  is  conversant  with  terms,  [i.  e.  universals,]  ! 
I  which  are  the  extremes  upward,  and  above  which  there 
are  no  other  principles ;  but  prudence  is  conversant  with 
the   extremes    downward     [which  are  particulars,]  of 
which  there  is  no  science,  but  only  a  sensible  perception, 
and  this   not  a  sensible  perception  of  peculiarities ;  but 
such  as  that  by  which  we  perceive  in  mathematics  that  a 
triangle  is  the  extreme ;'  for  we  stop  there.     It  is,  there- 

'  If  it  belongs  to  the  mathematical  science  to  demonstrate  con- 
cerning things  es«entiall7  inherent  in  triangle,  and  demonstration 
is  of  that  which  is  universal,  an  individual  and  particular  triangle, 
so  far  as  it  is  such,  is  not  the  object  of  science,  but  of  sense.  Yet 
it  is  not  an  object  of  sense,  in  the  same  manner  as  colour,  or  sounds 
or  any  thing  else,  of  which  some  one  of  the  senses  forms  a  judg- 
ment, but  as  an  individual  particular  thing.  But  that  this  is  a  sensi- 
ble object,  Aristode  shows  by  saying,  "  for  we  stop  there."     For 

Arist.  VOL,  II.  o 


2^ 


THE    NrCOMACHEAN 


BOOK  Vi. 


fore,  rather  this  sense  which  is  pntdencej  bat  of  that  there 
is  another  species." 


CHAPl'ER  IX. 


To  investigate;  however,  and  to  consult  differ ;  for  to 
consuU  is  to  investigate  something.     But  it  is  necessary 
to  discuss  good-consultation,  and  show  what  it  is,  whe- 
ther it  is  a  certain  science,  or  opinion,  or  good-conjecture, 
or  some  other  genus.     It  is  not,  therefore,  science.    For 
men  do  not  investigate  about  things  which  they  know  ; 
but  good-consultation  is  a  certain  consultation ;  and  he 
who   tonsnlts  investigates  and  reasons.     Neither  is  rt 
good-conjecture  ;  for  good-conjecture  is  without  reason- 
ing, and  is  something  which  is  accomplished  with  celerity ; 
but  men  consult  for  a  long  time,  and  say  that  the  objects 
of  consultation  ought  to  be  performed  rapidly,  but  that 
consultation  should  be   done  slowly.    Again,   sagacity 
and  good-consultation  also  differ  from  each  other  ;  but 
sagacity  is  a  certain  good-conjecture.     Neither,  there- 
lie  vho  descends  from  univefsaJs,  stops  at  particulars  as  the  down- 

"t\^ard  extremes*  .    -u •  -u  •    • 

»  By  this  sense,  Aristotle  means  the  comnion  sense,  which  is  im- 
partible, and  is  able  to  distinguish  what  it  is  in  which  contraries, 
and  things  of  an  heterogeneous  nature,  diiFer  from  each  other ; 
but  by  that  sense,  he  means  anyone  ^f  the  partial  senses,  such  as  the 
sight,  the  hearing,  «ccr 


fcHAK  IX. 


feTHICSi 


227 


fore,  is  any  good-consultation  opinion.  But  since  he 
who  consults  badly  errs,  but  he  who  consults  well  con- 
suits  rightly  ;  it  is  evident  that  good-consultation  is  a 
certain  rectitude.  Nor  is  good  consultation  either  sci^ 
ence  or  opinion ;  for  of  science,  indeed,  there  is  no  recti^ 
tude,  because  there  is  no  error ;  but  truth  is  the  recti- 
tude of  opinion ;  and  at  the  same  time  every  thing  of 
which  there  is  an  opinion  is  definite  and  determined. 
Nevertheless  good-consultation  is  not  without  reasoning. 
It  falls  short,  therefore,  of  dianoia  [or  the  discursive 
energy  of  reason  ;]  for  this  is  not  yet  enunciation  j  since 
opinion  is  not  investigation,  but  is  now  a  certain  enun- 
ciation.  He,  however,  who  consults,  whether  he  con., 
suits  well  or  ill,  investigates  something  and  reasons* 
But  good-consultation  is  a  certain  rectitude  of  consulta- 
tion ;  on  which  account,  it  must  in  the  first  place  be 
inquired  what  consultation  is,  and  with  what  it  is  con- 
versant* 


Since,  however,  rectitude  is  multifariously  predicated, 
it  is  evident  that  not  every  rectitude  is  good-consultation. 
For  the  incontinent  and  the  bad  man,  obtain  from  rea- 
soning that  which  they  propose  to  see ;  so  that  they  will 
have  consulted  rightly,  but  have  procured  for  themselves 
a  great  evil.  But  to  hav^  consulted  well^  appears  to  be 
a  certain  good ;  for  such  a  rectitude  of  consultation,  as 
becomes  the  mean  of  obtaining  good,  is  good  consulta- 
tion.  Goodj  however,  may  be  obtained  by  false  rea- 
soning ;  and  a  man  indeed  may  obtain  that  which  ought 
to  be  done,  yet  not  through  a  proper  medium,  but  the 
middle  term  may  be  false.*     Hence,  neither  will  that  be 

'  As  when  a  man  steals  in  order  to  relieve  a  worthy  person  in  dls- 
uti,s.     But  as  he  who  proves  a  true  conclusion  through  fals?pre- 


228 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VI. 


good-consultation  according  to  which  that  is  obtained 
which  ought  to  be  obtained,  yet  not  through  a  proper 
medium.  Farther  still,  it  is  possible  that  one  man  may 
obtain  the  object  of  his  wishes  by  consulting  for  a  long 
time,  but  another,  by  consulting  rapidly.  Hence  nei* 
ther  is  that  yet  good-consultation;  but  the  rectitude 
which  subsists  according  to  utility,  and  to  what  is  pro- 
per,  and  as,  and  when  it  is  proper.  Again,  it  is  possible 
simplj^  to  consult  well,  and  also  with  a  view  to  :x  certain 
end.  Good  consultation,  therefore,  simpli/  is  that  which 
proceeds  with  rectitude  to  an  end  simply  ;  but  a  certain 
^geod  consultation,  i%  that  which  proceeds  with  rectitude 
to  a  certain  end.  Hence,  if  to  consult  well  is  the  pro- 
vince  of  prudent  men,  good  consultation  will  be  a  recti- 
tude  according  to  utility  with  a  view  to  a  certain  end,  of 
which  prudence  is  the  true  hypothesis. 


CHAPTER  X, 


Intelligence,  however,  and  the  privation  of  intelli- 
pence,  according  to  which  we  denominate  men  intelligent 
or  unintelligent,  is  neither  wholly  the  same  with  science 
or  opinion;  for  if  it  were,  all  men  would  be  intelligent, 

miscs  does  not  reason  well ;  so  he  who,  in  order  to  obtain  a  good 
end,  assumes  a  bad  medium,  does  not  consult  well. 


CHAP.  X. 


ETHICS. 


229 


Nor  is  intelligence  some  one  of  the  particular  sciences, 
such  as  medicine,  for  it  would  be  conversant  with  health  ; 
or  geometry,  for  it  would  be  conversant  with  magnitudes. 
For  neither  is  intelligence  conversant  with  things  which 
always  are,  and  are  immoveable,  nor  with  things  which 
are  passing  into  existence ;  but  with  those  which  may  be 
the  subject  of  doubt  and  consultation.  Hence  it  is  con- ' 
versant  with  the  same  things  as  prudence ;  yet  intelli- 
gence and  prudence  are  not  the  same.  For  prudence, 
indeed,  is  of  a  commanding  nature  ;  for  the  end  of  it  is, 
what  ought,  or  what  ought  not  to  be  done.  But  intelli- 
gence is  alone  of  a  judiciary  nature.  For  intelligence  is 
the  same  as  right  intelligence ;  since  intelligent  men  are 
also  rightly  intelligent.  Intelligence,  however,  is  neither 
the  possession,  nor  the  acquisition  of  prudence.  But  as 
he  who  learns  is  said  to  understand  what  he  learns,  when 
he  uses  science,  the  like  also  takes  place  in  the  use  of 
opinion  in  forming  a  judgment  of  those  things  with 
which  prudence  is  conversant,  and  judging  of  them  well^ 
when  another  person  is  speaking.  For  what  is  well  is 
tlhe  same  with  what  is  beautifully  done.  And  hence  the 
'  name  intelligence  was  derived,  according  to  which  men 
are  said  to  be  rightly  intelligent,  viz.  from  intelligence  in 
;  learning;  for  we  frequently  use  the  verb  to  learn  as 
equivalent  to  the  verb  to  understand. 


230 


THE  NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VK 


CHAPTER   XL 


/  l3uT  what  IS  called  upright  decision,  according  ta 
j  which  we  say  that  men  decide  rightly,  is  the  right 
!  judgment  of  the  equitable  man.  As  an  indication  of 
this,  however,  we  say  that  the  equitable  man  is  especially 
inclined  to  pardon  others,  and  that  it  is  equitable  to  par- 
don certain  things.  But  pardon  is  an  upright  judiciary 
decision  of  the  equitable  man ;  and  the  decision  is  up- 
right which  is  made  by  a  man  observant  of  truth.  All 
these  habits,  however,  reasonably  tend  to  the  same  thing. 
For  we  speak  of  upright  decision,  intelligence,  prudence, 
and  intellect  with  reference  to  the  sam^  persons,  when 
we  say  that  they  are  men  of  upright  decision,  are  endued 
with  intellect,  are  prudent  and  intelligent.  For  all  these 
powers  pertain  to  the  extremes  [downward,]  and  to 
particulars.  And  an  intelligent  man,  and  one  who  de- 
cides rightly,  or  a  man  disposed  to  pardon,  will  be  one 
who  possesses  a  judiciary  power  about  things  with  which 
the  prudent  man  is  conversant ;  for  things  of  an  equitable 
nature  are  common  to  all  good  men,  in  their  intercourse 
with  others.  Every  thing,  however,  of  a  practicable 
nature  pertains  to  particulars,  and  the  [downward]  ex- 
tremes. For  it  is  necessary  that  a  prudent  man  should 
have  a  knowledge  of  these  ;  and  intelligence  and  equita- 
ble decision  are  conversant  with  things  of  a  practicable 


GHAP.  XI. 


ETHICS. 


231 


nature  ;  but  these  are  extremes.     And  intellect  pertains 
both  to  the  upward  and  downward  extremes.  For  intellect, 
i  and   not  the  discursive  energy  of  reason,  is  conversant 
i  with  both  first  and  last  terme,  [i.  e.  with  universal  prin- 
;  ciples ;]  the  one  indeed,   i.  e.  the  intellect,  w^hich  is  the 
principle  of  the  demonstrative  sciences,  is  conversant  with 
immutable   and  first  terms ;  but  the  intellect,  wliich  is 
occupied  ui  practical  affairs,  £or  which  is  the  principle  of 
prudence,]  is  conversant  with  the    extreme,    and  with 
that  which  is  contingent,  and  the  other  proposition.*    For 
these  are  the  principles  of  that  for  the  sake  of  which  a 
thing  is  done  [or  the  final  cause ;]  for  universal  is  from 
particulars.     Of  these,    therefore,  it  is  necessary  to  have 
a  sensible  perception ;  but  this  is  [the  practical]  intellect. 
Hence,  these  [habits]  appear  to  be  natural.     And  no  one 
\  indeed  is  wise  by  nature ;  but   every  one  possesses  na- 
turally  the   power   of   deciding   rightly,  together  with 
intelligence  and   intellect.     But  as  an  indication  of  this, 
\  we  are  of  opinion  that  these  habits  are  attendants  on  the 
ages  of  the  life  of  men  ;  and  we  say  that  this  age  [i,  e. 
old  age]   possesses  intellect  and  upright  decision,  as  if 
nature  were  the  cause  of  this.     Hence,  also^  intellect  is 
both  the  principle  and  the  end  ;*  for  from  these  demon? 
sirations  are  framed,  and  with  these  they  are  conversant. 


'  i.  e.  It  assents  to  certain  Immediate  particulars,  which  are  as- 
sumed as  minor  propositions,  in  order  to  produce  the  particular  con- 
clusions of  prudence,  through  which  what  is  here  and  now  to  be 
done,  is  infeiTed. 

I     *  i.  e.  The  practical  intellect  is  both  the  principle   and  the  end 
!  of  practical  demonstrations.     For  the  principles  of  practical  de^ 
Unonstrations  are  things  from  which  it  is  concluded  what  is  to  be 
done  ;  but  the  end  is  good,  which  is  proposed  as  a  thing  to  be  ob- 
tained through  actions. 


232 


THE    NICOMACHUAN 


BOOK  VI* 


Hence,  [in  practical  affairs]  it  is  no  less  necessary  to 
attend  to  the  undemonstrated  assertions  and  opinions  of 
elderly  or  prudent  men,  than  to  demonstrations ;  for  in 
consequence  of  possessing  an  eye  from  experience,  they 
perceive  the  principles  [of  things  of  a  practicable  nature]. 
And  thus  we  have  shown  what  wisdom  and  prudence  are, 
and  with  what  particulars  each  is  conversant,  and  that 
each  is  the  virtue  of  a  different  part  of  the  soul. 


CHAPTER    Xir. 

Some  one,  however,  may  doubt  concerning  these,  in 
what  their  utility  consists.  For  wisdom,  indeed,  con- 
templates none  of  those  things  from  which  men  will 
obtain  felicity ;  since  it  is  not  conversant  with  any  thing 
which  is  in  generation,  [or  which  is  becoming  to  be,  or 
passing  into  existence].  But  prudence,  indeed,  does 
consider  those  things  from  which  human  felicity  is  de- 
rived ;  yet  on  what  account  is  it  necessary  that  it  should, 
since  prudence  is  conversant  with  just  and  beautiful 
things,  and  which  are  good  to  man  ?  We  do  not,  how- 
ever, become  at  all  more  practically  virtuous  by  knowing 
these  things,  since  the  virtues  are  habits  ;  as  neither  are 
things  s^d  to  be  salubrious,  or  to  conduce  to  a  good 
habit  of  body,  because  they  have  an  active  power,  but 


CHAP.  XII. 


ETHICS, 


233 


because  they  proceed  from  habit.  For  we  are  not  at 
all  more  practical,  from  possessing  the  medical  or  gym- 
nastic art.  But  if  a  man  is  not  to  be  considered  as 
prudent  for  the  sake  of  these  things,  but  for  the  sake  of 
becoming  worthy,  they  will  not  be  at  all  useful  to  those 
who  are  worthy.  Again,  neither  will  prudence  be  use- 
ful to  those  who  are  not  worthy  ;  for  it  is  of  no  conse- 
quence whether  they  are  prudent,  or  are  persuaded  by 
others  that  are  ;  since  this  will  be  sufficient,  in  the  same 
manner  as  in  what  pertains  to  health.  For  when  we  wish 
to  be  well,  we  do  not  at  the  same  time  learn  the  medical 
art.  To  which  we  may  add,  that  it  will  appear  to  be 
absurd,  that  prudence,  which  is  subordinate  to  wisdom, 
should  possess  a  greater  authority ;  for  that  which  is 
effective,  governs  and  presides  in  every  thing.  These 
things,  therefore,  must  be  discussed,  for  now  the  doubt  is 
concerning  them  alone.  In  the  first  place,  therefore, 
we  say,  that  these  virtues  [wisdom  and  prudence]  are 
necessarily  eligible  per  se^  since  they  are  the  virtues  of 
each  part  of  the  soul,'  though  neither  of  them  should 
effect  any  thing.  In  the  next  place,  they  do  indeed  effect 
something,  yet  not  in  the  same  manner  as  medicine  pro- 
duces health ;  but  as  health  produces  the  energies  of  a 
good  habit  of  body,  thus  also  wisdom  produces  felicity. 
For  being  a  part  of  the  whole  of  virtue,  by  the  possession 
and  the  energy  of  it,  it  renders  a  man  happy.  Farther 
still,  the  work  is  accomplished  by  prudence  and  ethical 
virtue.  For  virtue  renders  the  scope  proposed  by  the 
agent  right ;  but  prudence  gives  rectitude  to  things  which 
tend  to  the  scope.  A  virtue,  however,  of  this  kind, 
does  not  belong  to  the  fourth,  or  nutritive  part  of  the 


'   '  viz.  Wisdom  is  the  virtue  of  the  contemplative,  and  prudence  of 
the  practical  intellect. 


234 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VI, 


soul,  because  its  energies  are  not  in  our  power,  [nor  are 
rational,  either  essentially  or  by  participation.]  But  with 
respect  to  our  not  being  at  all  more  adapted  to  the  prac- 
tice  of  things  beautiful  and  just,  through  prudence,  [in 
answer  to  this  objection]  we  must  begin  a  little  higher, 
assuming  the  following  principle :— For  as  we  say  that 
certain  persons  who  perform  just  things,  are  not  yet  just, 
such  as  those  who  do  what  is  ordered  by  the  laws,  either 
\  unwillingly,  or  from  ignorance,  or  from  some  other  cause, 
and  not  on  account  of  the  things  themselves,  though  they 
do  those  things  which  ought  to  be  done,  and  such  as  a 
worthy  man  ought  to^^do  ;  thus  also,  as  it  seems,  it  is 
possible  to  do  every  thing  with  a  certain  disposition  of 
mind,  so  as  to  be  a  good  man.  I  mean  for  instance,  that 
k  is  possible  to  do  every  thing  [with  which  virtue  is  con- 
cerned] from  deliberate  choice,  and  for  the  sake  of  the 
things  which  are  done.  Virtue,  therefore,  produces  a 
right  deliberate  choice ;  but  it  is  not  the  business  of  vir- 
tue, but  of  some  other  power,  to  render  the  deliberate 
choice  disposed  to  embrace  what  truly  contributes  tq 
the  end, ' 


It  is  requisite,  however,  to  speak  more  clearly  on  this 
subject.  There  is,  therefore,  a  certain  power  which  is 
called  skill.  But  this  is  a  power  of  such  a  kind,  that  by 
Its  assistance  those  things  may  be  performed  and  obtain- 
ed, which  contribute  to  the  proposed  scope.  And  if, 
indeed,  the  scope  is  beautiful,  this  power  is  laudable ;  but 
if  the  scope  is  bad,  this  power  becomes  craft :  on  which 
account,  also,  we  say  that  prudent  men  are  skilful,  ancj 

Arllr'-'"'''^'/  '^^  "^^^^s»^y  here  ofparaphrasing  the  words  qi 
Arii^totle,  m  order  to  render  his  meaning  intelligible. 


CHAP.  XIII. 


ETHICS. 


23.5 


not  crafty.  Prudence,  however,  is  not  this  power,  yet 
does  not  subsist  without  it.  But  habit  is  not  acquired  by 
this  eye  of  the  soul  without  virtue,  as  we  have  said,  and 
is  evident.  For  the  syllogisms  of  practical  affairs  ranic 
as  a  principle  ;  since  the  end  is  a  thing  of  this  kind,  and 
that  which  is  best,  whatever  it  may  be.  Let  the  end, 
for  instance,  be  something  casual ;  but  this  is  not  appa- 
rent except  to  a  good  man.  For  depravity  distorts  [the 
judgment,]  and  produces  deception  about  the  practical 
principles.  Hence  it  is  evident,  that  it  is  impossible  for 
any  one  to  be  a  prudent,  unless  he  is  a  good  man. 


CHAPTER    XIIL 


Again,  therefore,  let  us  direct  our  attention  to  virtue. 
For  as  prudence  is  not  the  same,  indeed,  but  is  similar 
to  sagacity,  thus,  also,  natural  virtue  subsists  similarly, 
with  reference  to  that  which  is  properly  so  called.  For 
the  several  manners  appear  to  all  men  to  subsist  in  a  cer- 
tain  respect  naturally;  since  v/e  are  just,  and  temperate, 
and  brave,  and  possess  the  other  virtues  immediately 
from  our  birth.  At  the  same  time,  however,  we  investi- 
gate something  else,  as  that  which  is  properly  good,  and 
are  of  opinion  that  such-like  virtues  are  inherent  after 
..another  manner.    For  the  physical  habits  are  inherent 


236 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


QOK  VI. 


in  children  and  brutes  ;  but  they  are  seen  to  be  noxious 
without  intellect.  Thus  much^  indeed,  is  apparent,  that 
as  it.happens  that  a  strong  body,  which  is  moved  without 
sight,  very  much  errs  in  its  motions,  in  consequence  of 
being  deprived  of  sight ;  this,  likewise.  Is  the  case  here 
[with  respect  to  the  physical  virtues. ']  But  if  the  pos- 
sessor of  these  virtues  obtains  intellect,  also,  he  will  ex- 
eel  in  his  actions.  The  habit,  however,  being  similar, 
will  then  be  properly  virtue.  Hence,  as  in  the  doxastic 
part  of  the  soul,  [or  that  part  which  is  characterised  by 
opinion,]  there  are  two  species,  skill  and  prudence ;  thus^ 
also,  in  the  ethical  part,  there  are  two  species,  one  of 
which  is  physical  virtue,  but  the  other  is  virtue  properly 
so  called.  And  of  these,  virtue  properly  so  called,  is 
not  without  prudence.     Hence,  it  is  said,  that  all  the  vir- 


'  In  the  physical  virtues,  which  are  the  forerunners  of  the  other 
virtues,  the  possession  of  the  senses  in  perfection,  and  especially  of 
the  most  honourable  of  the  senses,  the  sight  and  hearing,  may  be 
called  corporeal  prudence.  In  the  second  place,  corporeal  strength 
may  be  denominated  corporeal  fortitude.  In  the  third  place,  cor- 
poreal beauty  may  be  called  corporeal  temperance.  For  as  tem- 
perance consists  in  the  symphony  and  consent  of  the  powers  of  the 
soul,  so  beauty  in  the  body  consists  in  a  certain  symmetry  of  its 
organical  parts.  And  in  the  fourth  place,  health  may  be  called 
corporeal  justice.  For  justice  is  that  habit  which  keeps  the  parts  of 
the  soul  free  from  sedition  ;  and  health  is  that  which  produces  con- 
cord and  arrangement  among  the  disorderly  elements  of  the 
body. 

These  physical  virtues  are  common  to  brutes,  being  mingled 
with  the  temperaments,  and  for  the  most  part  contrary  to  each 
other ;  or  ratlier  pertaining  to  the  animal.  Or  it  may  be  said,  that 
they  are  illuminations  from  reason,  when  not  impeded  by  a  certain 
bad  temperament ;  or  that  they  are  the  result  of  energies  in  s^ 
former  life. 


CHAP,  xnu 


ETHICS. 


237 


tues  are  prudences.      And   Socrates,*   indeed,  investi* 
gated   partly  with  rectitude,  and  partly  with  error.     For 
because  he  thought  that  all  the  virtues  are  prudences,  he 
erred ;  but  it  is  well  said  by  him,  that  the  virtues  are  not 
without  prudence.     But  as  an  indication  of  this,  all  men 
now,  when  they  define  virtue,  add  to  the  definition  habit, 
and  that  they  energise  according  to  right  reason.     And 
right  reason  is  that  which  subsists  according  to  prudence. 
All  men,   therefore,   appear  in  a  certain  respect  to  pro- 
phesy,  that  a  habit  of  this  kind,  which  subsists  according 
to  prudence,  is  virtue.     It   is   necessary,    however,  to 
change,  in  a  small  degree,  the  definition ;  for  not  only  a 
habit  according  to  right  reason,  but  also  a  habit  in  con- 
junction   with  right  reason,*   is  virtue.     But  prudence 
is  right  reason  energising  about  things  of  this  kind.     So- 

^  Socrates,  in  the  Republic  of  Plato,  calls  the  virtues  prudences 
or  sciences,  because  the  energies  of  all  the  virtues  are  according  to 
rieht  reason.  Hence,  he  gives  them  this  appellation,  from  the 
better  and  superior  part  of  the  soul,  just  as  we  denominate  man 
simply  a  rational  animal,  though  he  contains  both  rational  and  irra- 
tional  powers.  But  we  thus  denominate  him,  because  his  irrational 
powers  are  in  a  certain  respect  rendered  rational,  by  being  obedient 
to  reason,  and  because  it  is  more  appropriate  to  denominate  him 
from  the  more  exceUent  and  ruling  part.  Hence,  there  is  no  real 
disagreement  between  Socrates  and  Aristotle,  in  what  is  here  said 
of  the  virtues;  the  former  denominating  them  according  to  what 
is  the  characteristic  of  their  e.sence ;  but  the  latter  considering 
the  virtues,    and    that    which  characterises    them,    as    different 

^^'"^' A  man  performs  something  according  to  reason,  both  when 
he  is  excited  by  another,  and  when  he  regards  the  end,  m  the  same 
manner  as  nature  produces  according  to  reason ;  but  he  acts  in 
conjunction  mth  reason,  when  he  acts  from  knowledge  ;  and  regard- 
J  the  end,  operates  according  to  reason."  Paraphrase  on  the 
Nicomachean  Ethics.    The  translation  by  Mr.  Bndgman. 


235 


TItn    mCOUXCHF,An  ETHICS.         BOOK  Vt^ 


ci^atcs  therefore  thought,  that  the  virtues,  indeed,  were 
reasons  ;  because  all  of  them  are  sciences  ^  \mt  we  think 
that  they  subsist  in  conjunction  with  reason.     Hence,  it 
is  evident,  from  what  has  been  said,  that  it  is  not  possible 
to  be  a  good  man,  properly,  without  prudence ;  nor   a 
prudent  man  without  ethical  virtue.     After  this  manner^ 
also,  the  reasoning  may  be  dissolved,  by  which  some  one 
may  contend,  that  the  virtues  are  separated  from  each 
other ;   for  the  same  person  is  not  naturally  well  adapted 
to  all  the  virtues;     Hence,  he  has  now  obtained  this,  but 
nbt  yet  tliat  virtue;  for  this  may,  indeed,  happen  ac- 
cording to  the  physical   virtues,  but  is  not  possible  in 
those  virtues,  according  to  which  a  man  is  said  to  be 
simply  a  good  man.     For  all  the  virtues  are  present,  at 
the  same  time  that  prudence,  which  is  one  virtue,  is  pre- 
sent.     But    it   is  evident,    that   though  prudence  were 
not  a  practical  thing,   it  would  be  necessary,  because 
It  is  the  virtue  of  a  part  of  the  soul,  and  because  delibe- 
rate choice  will  not  be  right  without  prudence,  nor  with^ 
out  virtue ;  for  one  of  these  is  the  end,   but  the  other 
causes  us  to  do  things  which  contribute  to  the  end.  Pru- 
dence, however,  neither  has  dominion  over  wisdom,  nor 
over  the  better  part  of  the  soul,  as  neither  has  the  medi- 
cal science  dominion  over  health ;  for   it  does  not    use 
.health,  but   considers  how  it  maybe  obtained.    It  pre- 
scribeSj  therefore,  for  the  sake  of  health,  but  has  no  do- 
minion over  it*     Again,  to  say  that  prudence  rules  over 
wisdom,  is  just  as  if  some  one  should  say,  that  the  poli- 
tical science  rules  over  the  gods,  because  it  orders  every 
thing  which  is  done  in  the  city. 


■•*>* 


fi 


Tiir. 


NICOMACHEAN    ETHICS. 


BOOK    Yll. 


CHAPTER  I. 


After  these  things,  making  another  beginning,  it 
I  must  be  observed  by  us,  that  there  are  three  species  of 
I  things  which  are  to  be  avoided  in  manners,  viz.  vice,  in- 
I  continence,  and  brutality.  But  the  contraries  to  two  of 
I  these  are  indeed  evident ;  for  we  call  one  of  the  contra- 
'  ries  virtue,  and  the  other  continence. ,  To  brutality,  how- 
ever,  it  will  be  most  appropriate  to  say,  that  the  virtue 
is  opposed,  which  is  a  certain  heroical '  and  divine  virtue, 

*  Heroical  virtue  is  that  virtue  by  which  men  act  with  rectitude, 
magnificently,  and  enthusiastically,  or  under  the  influence  of  divine 


240 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VII. 


as  Homer  represents  Priam  saying  of  Hector,  that  he  was 
a  very  good  man  : 


inspiration,  both  in  practical  affairs,  and  according  to  intellectual 
energy.  For  the  sake  of  the  liberal  and  philosophical  reader,  the 
following  account  of  the  heroic  character  is  subjoined,  from  the 
manuscript  Scholia  of  Proclus,  on  the  Cratylus.  If  any  apology 
were  necess^y  for  the  insertion  of  this  extract,  it  will  be  sufficient 
merely  to  ^dd,  that  independent  of  its  excellence,  the  manuscript 
from  which  it  is  taken,  is  among  the  number  of  the  rarest  at  pre- 
sent existing. 

«  Every  where,  the  extremities  of  a  prior,  are  conjoined  with  the 
summits  of  a  secondary  order.    Thus,  for  instance,  our  master  Her- 
mes, (•  Jia^dTuj  tifMt^  t^nu)  being  an  archangelic  monad,  is  celebrat- 
ed as  a  god.     But  Plato  calls  the  whole  extent  between  gods  and 
men,  daemons ;  and  they,  indeed,  are  demons  by  nature.     Those 
demons,  however,  that  are  now  mentioned,  together  with  the  demi- 
gods, or  heroes,  are  not  daimons  and  heroes  by  nature,  for  they  do 
not  always  follow  the  gods ;  but  they  are  only  so  from  habitude, 
being  souls  who  naturally  deliver  themselves  to  generation,  such  as 
was  the  great  Hercules,  and  others  of  the  like  kind.    But  the  pecu- 
liarity of  heroic  souls  is  magnitude  of  operation,  the  elevated   and 
the  magnificent ;  and  such  heroes  it  is  necessary  to  honour,  and  to 
perform  funeral  rites  to  their  memory,  conformably  to  the  exhorta- 
tion of  the  Athenian  guest.     This  heroic  genus  of  souls,  therefore, 
does  not  always  follow  the  gods,  but  is  undefiled  and  more  intel! 
lectual  than  other  souls.     And  it  descends,  indeed,  for  the  benefit 
of  the  life  of  men,  as  partaking  of  a  destiny  inclining  downwards; 
but  it  has  much  of  an  elevated  nature,  and  which  is  properly  libe- 
rated from  matter.     Hence,  souls  of  this  kind  are  easily  led  back 
to  the  intelligible  world,  in   which   they  live  for  many  periods ; 
while,  on  the  contrary,  the  more  irrational  kind  of  souls  are  either 
never  led  back,  or  this  is  accomplished  with  great  difficulty,  or  con- 
tinues for  a  very  inconsiderable  period  of  time. 

«  Each  of  the  gods,  also,  is  perfectly  exempt  from  secondary 
natures  ;  and  the  first,  and  more  total  of  daemons  are  likewise  esta- 
blished above  a  habitude  of  tliis  kind.  They  employ,  however, 
terrestrial  and  partial  spirits  in  the  generations  of  some  of  the 


CHAP.  I. 


ETHICS. 


241 


[Wretch  that  I  am  !  my  bravest  offspring  slain, 
You  the  disgrace  of  Priam's  house  remain  ! 


human  race ;    not  physically  mingling  with  mortals,  but  moving 
nature,  perfecting  its  power,  expanding  the  path  of  generation, 
and   removing  all  impediments.     Fables,  therefore,  through   the 
similitude  of  appellation,  conceal  the  things  themselves.    For  spirits 
of  this  kind,  are  similarly  denominated  with  the  gods,  the  leading 
causes  of  their  series.     Hence,  they  say,  cither  that  gods  have  con- 
nexion with   women,  or  men  with  goddesses.     But  if  they  were 
willing  to  speak  plainly  and  clearly,  they  would  say  that  Venus, 
Mars,  Thetis,  and  the  other  divinities  produce  their  respective  series, 
beginning  from  on  high,  as  far  as  to  the  last  of  things ;   each  of 
which  series  comprehends  in  itself  many  essences  differing  from 
each  other ;  such  as  the  angelical,  daemoniacal,  heroical,  nymphical, 
and  the  like.     The  lowest  powers,  therefore,  of  these  orders,  have 
much  communion  with  the  human  race :  for  the  extremities  of  first, 
are  connascent  with  the  summits  of  secondary  natures.     And  they 
contribute  to  our  other  natural  operations,  and  to  the  production 
of  our  species.     On  this  account  it  frequently  appears,  that  from 
the  mixture  of  these  powers  with  men,  heroes  are  generated,  who 
appear   to  possess   a  certain    prerogative    above  human  nature. 
But  not  only  a  daemoniacal  genus  of  this  kind  physically  sympa- 
thizes with  men,  but  a  different  genus  sympathizes   with  other 
animals,  as  Nymphs  with  trees,  others  with  fountains,  and  others 
with  stags,  or  serpents. 

"  But  how  is  it  that  at  one  time  the  gods  are  said"  to  have  con- 
nexion with  mortal  females,  and  at  another  time  mortal  females  with 
the  gods  ?  We  reply,  that  the  communion  of  gods  with  goddesses 
gives  subsistence  to  gods,  or  daemons,  eternally  ;  but  heroic  souls, 
having  a  twofold  form  of  life,  viz.  doxastic  and  dianoetic,  the  former 
of  which  is  called,  by  Plato,  in  the  Timaeus,  the  circle  of  difference, 
and  the  latter,  the  circle  of  sameness,  and  which  are  characterised 
by  the  properties  of  wale  and  female  ; — hence,  these  souls  at  one 
time  exhibit  a  deiform  power,  by  energising  according  to  the  mas- 
culine prerogative  of  their  nature,  or  the  circle  of  sameness,  and 
at  another  time  according  to  their  feminine  prerogative,  or  the 
circle  of  difference;  yet  so,  as  that  according  to  botli  these 
energies  they  act  with  rectitude,  and  without  merging  themselves 

ArisL  VOL.  ii.  $► 


242 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VII. 


Mestor  the  brave,  renown'd  in  ranks  of  war, 
With  Troilus,  dreadful  in  his  rushing  car ;] 


in  the  darkness  of  body..  They  likewise  know  the  natures  prior 
to  their  own,  and  exercise  a  providential  care  over  inferior  concerns, 
without,  at  the  same  time,  having  that  propensity  to  such  concerns 
which  is  found  in  the  bulk  of  mankind.  But  the  souls  which  act 
erroneously,  according  to  the  energies  of  both  these  circles,  or  which, 
in  other  words,  neither  exhibit  accurate  specimens  of  practical  or 
intellectual  virtue — these  differ  in  no  respect  from  gregarious  souls, 
or  the  herd  of  mankind,  w^ith  whom  the  circle  of  sameness  is 
fettered,  and  the  circle  of  difference  sustains  all-various  fractures 
and  distortions. 

"  As  it  is' impossible,  therefore,  that  these  heroic  souls  can  act 
•with  equal  vigour  and  perfection,  according  to  both  these  circles  at 
once,  sliice  this  is  the  province  of  natures  more  divine  than  the 
human,  it  is  necessary  that  they  should  sometimes  descend  and 
energise,  principally  according  to  their  doxastic   part,  and  some- 
times according  to  their  more   intellectual   part.     Hence,  one  of 
these  circles  must  energise  naturally,  and  the  other   be  hindered 
from  its  proper  energy.     On  this  account  heroes  are  called  demi- 
gods,  (r.^uihoi),  as  having  only  one   of  their  circles  illuminated  by 
the  gods.     Such  of  these,  therefore,  as  have  the  circle  of  sameness 
unfettered,  as  are  excited  to  an  intellectual  life,  and  are  moved 
about  it,  according  to  a  deiiic  energy — these  are  said  to  have  a  god 
for  their  father,  and  a  mortal  for  their  mother,   through  a  defect 
with  respect  to  the  doxastic  form  of  life.     But  such,  on  the  con- 
trary, as  energise  without  impediment,  according  to  the  circle  of 
difference,  who  act  with  becoming  rectitude  in  practic^  affairs,  and 
at  the  same  time  enthusiast icallij,  or  in  other  words,  under  the  in- 
spiring influence  of  divinity — these  are  said  to  have  a  mortal  for 
their  fatlier,  and  a  goddess  for  their  mother.     In  short,  rectitude 
of  energy  in  each  of  these  circles  is  to  be   ascribed  to  a  divine 
cause*.     Hence,  when  the  circle  of  sameness  has  dominion,  the 
divine  cause  of  illumination  is  said  to  be  masculine  and  paternal ; 

*  Let,  it,  however,  be  can  fully  observed,  that  this  divine  cause  illuminates, 
iiivljiorates,  and  excites  these  circles  in  the  most  unrestrained  and  impassive 
uiaunci,  without  destroying  freedom  of  energy  in  the  circles  themselves,  or 
t^dusing  any  partial  afiection,  syuipathy,  or  teudeiicy  '\\\  iiluaiinating  deity. 


CHAP.  I. 


ETHICS. 


243 


And  last,  great  Hector,  more  than  man  divine. 
For  sure  he  seem'd  not  of  terrestrial  line !  * 

Hence,  if,  as  it  is  said,  men  from  being  men  become 
gods '  through  excess  of  virtue,  the  habit  which  is  op- 
posed to  a  brutal  habit,  will,  indeed,  be  such  as  this. 
For  as  there  is  neither  the  vice  nor  virtue  of  a  brute,  so 


but  when  the  circle  of  difference  predominates,  it  is  said  to  be 
maternal.  Hence  too  Achilles,  in  Homer,  acts  with  rectitude  in 
practical  affairs,  and  at  the  same  time  exhibits  specimens  of  mag- 
nificent, vehement,  and  divinely-inspired  energy,  as  being  the  son 
of  a  goddess.  And  such  is  his  attachment  to  practical  virtue, 
that  even  when  in  Hades,  he  desires  a  union  with  body,  in  order 
that  he  may  assist  his  father.  While,  on  the  contrary,  Minos  and 
Rhadamanthus,  who  were  heroes  illuminated  by  Jupiter,  raised 
themselves  from  generation  to  true  being,  and  meddled  with  mortal 
concerns  no  farther  than  absolute  necessity  required." 

Priam,  in  Homer,  complains  that  the  bravest  of  his  sons,  Mes- 
tor,  Troilus,  and  Hector,  had  fallen  in  battle,  and  that  cowardly 
sons  only  survived.  I  have  given  the  whole  passage  ;  for  Aristotle 
only  cites  what  relates  to  Hector.  The  passage  is  to  be  found  in 
Iliad,  24^.  v.  255,  &c.     The  translation  is  by  Pope. 

*  The  wisest  of  the  ancients  never  supposed  that  men,  however 
exalted  their  virtue  might  be  while  living,  actually  become  at  length 
gods ;  for  this  was  an  opinion  that  prevailed  only  during  the  cor- 
ruption of  the  heathen  religion,  and  especially  during  the  decline 
and  fall  of  the  Roman  empire.  This  opinion,  in  short,  is  diame- 
trically opposite  to  the  most  fundamental  principles  of  heathenism, 
as  is  evident  from  the  golden  verses  ascribed  to  Pythagoras,  and 
from  the  writings  of  Plato ;  not  to  mention  other  respectable  autho- 
rities which  might  be  adduced  in  confirmation  of  this  assertion.  It 
is  necessary  to  observe,  therefore,  that  very  good  men  were  said  by 
the  ancients  to  become  gods,  through  the  similitude  which  they 
bear  to  divinity.  Hence,  Plato,  in  the  Sophista,  calls  the  Elean 
guest,  or  stranger,  a  god.  In  short,  as  Proclus  well  observes, 
Plato,  in  many  places,  venerates  the  participants  of  the  gods  by 
die  same  names  as  the  gods,  and  calls  them  gods.     Thus,  not  only; 


\ 


244 


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BOOK  VIJ. 


CHAP.   I. 


ETHICS. 


245 


neither  is  there  of  a  god  ;  but  the  one  habit,  indeed,  is 
more  honourable  than  virtue,  and  the  other  is  of  a 
different  genus  from  vice.  Since,  however,  the  existence 
of  a  divine  man  is  rare,  (just  as  the  Lacedsemonians, 
when  they  very  much  admire  a  man,  are  accustomed  to 
say,  O  divine  man,)  thus,  also  the  brutal  nature  is  rare 
among  men ;  but  when  it  does  exist,  it  is  principally 
found  among  the  barbarians.  Some  men,  however,  be- 
come brutalized  through  diseases  and  mutilations  of  the 
body.  And  we  thus  denominate,  by  a  defamatory  appel- 
lation, those  who  surpass  other  men  in  vice.  But  of  such 
a  disposition  of  the  soul  as  this,  we  shall  hereafter  make 
mention ;  and  we  have  before  spoken  concerning  vice. 
Let  us  now,  therefore,  speak  concerning  incontinence^ 
and  effeminacy,  and  luxury,  and  concerning  [their  oppo- 
sites,]  continence  and  endurance.  For  each  of  these 
must  not  be  considered  as  if  they  were  the  same  habits 
with  virtue  and  vice,  nor  yet  as  if  they  were  of  a  genus 
different  from  them.  It  is  necessary,  however,  as  we 
have  done  in  other  things,  having  first  premised  what  is 

the  Athenian  guest  in  the  Laws,  but  also  Socrates  in  the  Phacdrus, 
calls  a  divine  soul,  a  god.  Nor  is  it  wonderful  that  beings  who  are 
always  united  to  the  gods,  and  who  complete  one  golden  chain 
together  with  them,  should  be  denominated  gods.  Plato,  likewise, 
in  many  places,  calls  daemons  gods,  though  they  are  essentially  sub- 
ordinate to,  and  subsist  about  the  gods.  For  in  the  Phaedrus  and 
Timaeus,  and  other  dialogues,  you  will  find  that  he  extends  the 
appellation  of  gods  as  far  as  to  daemons. 

Hence,  according  to  Plato,  and  the  wisest  of  the  heathens,  that 
nature  is  simply  a  god,  which  is  characterised  by  a  superessential 
unity.  Intellectual  natures  are  gods  according  to  union.  Divine 
souls  are  gods  according  to  participation.  Daemons  are  gods 
according  to  a  contact  with  the  gods.  And  the  souls  of  men  are 
gods  through  similitude. 


apparent,  [i.  e.  what  is  commonly  admitted  as  true,]  and 
proposed  doubts,  in  the  next  place  to  show  every  thing 
which  is  especially  probable,  about  these  passions ;  but 
if  not  every  thing,  at  least  the  greater  part,  and  the  prin- 
cipal. For  if  such  doubts  as  are  difficult  are  dissolved, 
and  those  things  which  are  probable  are  left,  we  shall 
have  sufficiently  accomplished  our  purpose. 

Continence,  therefore,  and  endurance,  appear  to  be 
among  the  number  of  worthy  and  laudable  things ;  but 
incontinence  and  effeminacy,  among  the  number  of 
things  bad  and  blameable.  And  the  continent  man,  and 
h6  who  abides  in  the  decision  of  reason,  are  the  same 
person ;  and  the  incontinent  man  is  the  same  with  him 
who  departs  from  the  decision  of  reason.  And  the 
incontinent  man,  indeed,  knowing  that  the  things  are 
bad,  does  them  through  passion ;  but  the  continent  man, 
knowing  that  desires  are  bad,  does  not  follow  them,  in 
consequence  of  being  obedient  to  reason.  And  all  men, 
indeed,  admit  that  the  temperate  man  is  continent,  and 
possesses  the  virtue  of  endurance ;  but  with  respect  to 
a  man  of  this  description,  some  say  that  he  is  in  every 
respect  temperate,  but  others  say  that  he  is  not.  And 
some  confusedly  say,  that  the  intemperate  man  is  incon- 
tinent, and  the  incontinent  man  is  intemperate;  but 
others  say  that  they  differ  from  each  other.  But  with 
respect  to  the  prudent  man,  sometimes  they  say  that  he 
cannot  be  incontinent ;  and  sometimes,  that  certain  per- 
sons who  are  prudent  and  skilful  are  incontinent.  And 
farther  still,  men  are  said  to  be  incontinent  of  anger, 
of  honour,  and  of  gain.  Such,  therefore,  are  the  asser- 
tions concerning  continence  and  incontinence. 


246 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VH. 


CHAP,  n^ 


ETHICS.. 


247 


CHAPTER    IL 


\   It  may,  however,  be  doubted,  how  he  who  thinks 
rightly  can  act  incontinently.     Some  say,  therefore,  that 
it  is  impossible  for  a  man  to  act  incontinently  who  knows 
that  he  ought  not ;  for  it  would  be  a  dreadful  thing, 
when  science  is  inherent  as  Socrates  thought,  that  any 
thing  else  should  have  dominion,  and  draw  the  man 
about   like  a  slave.     For  Socrates,  in   short,  opposed 
reason  by  this  opinion,  as  if  there  were  no  such  thing 
as  incontinence ;  since  he  said  that  no  one  acted  contrary 
to  what  he  apprehended  it  was  best  to  do,  except  from 
ignorance  [of  what  was  best].     This  assertion,  therefore, 
is  adverse  to  those  things  which  are  clearly  apparent ; 
and  it  is  requisite  to  inquire  concerning  the  passion,  if 
any  one  acts  incontinently  through  ignorance,  what  the 
[  mode  of  this  ignorance  is?  For  it  is  evident,  that  he  who 
acts  incontinently  does  not  think  he  ought  so  to  act,  till 
he  is  under  the  influence  of  the  passion.     There  are, 
however,  certain  persons  who  admit  some  of  these  things, 
but  not  others.     For  they  grant,  indeed,  that  nothing  is 
better  than  science ;  but  they  do  not  admit  that  no  one 
acts  contrary  to  ,what  appears  to  him  to  be  better.     And 
on  this  account  they  say,  that  the  incontinent  man,  not 
having  science  but  opinion,  is  vanquished  by  pleasures. 


If,  however,  it  is  opinion,  and  neither  science  nor  a 
strong  but  a  weak  hypolepsis  which  resists,  as  it  is  in 
those  who  are  dubious,  pardon  is  to  be  granted  to  him 
who  yields  to  strong  desires;    but  improbity  is  not  to 
be  pardoned,  nor  any  thing  else  which   is  blameable. 
The  incontinent  man,  therrfore,  Is  vanquished  by  desire, 
prudence  at  the  same  time  resisting ;  for  this  is  most 
strong.     But  this  is  absurd  ;  for  the  same  person  will  be^ 
at  the  same   time,  prudent  and  incontinent.     No  one, 
however,  will  say  that  It  is  the  province  of  a  prudent  man 
to  perform  voluntarily  the  most  base  actions.    To  which 
j  may  be  added,  what  we  have  before  shown,  that  the 
■  prudent  is  a  practical  man ;  for  he  is  conversant  with 
particulars,  and  possesses  the  other  virtues.. 

Again,  if  the  continent  man  consists  in  having  strong 
and  base  desires,  the  temperate  man  will  not  be  a  conti- 
nent man,  nor  the  continent  a  temperate  man ;  for  it  is 
not  the  province  of  the  temperate  man  to  have  too  muchl 
[desire]  or  to  have  base  desires*     But  It  would  be  requi- ' 
site  that  he  should,  if  this  were  admitted ;  for  if,  indeed, 
the  desires  are  good,  the  habit  which   prevents  a  man 
from  following  them  Is  bad ;  so  that  not  all  continence 
will  be  good.     If,  however,  the  desires  are  weak,  but 
not  bad,  there  is  nothing  venerable  [in  continence ;]  and 
if  they  are  bad  and  weak,  there  is  nothing  great  in  it.  Far- 
ther still,  if  continence  gives  permanency  to  every  opi- 
nion, and  even  to  false  opinion,  it  is  a  bad  thing ;  and 
if  incontinence  produces  a  departure  from  every  opinion, 
there  will  be  a  certain  incontinence  which  is  good  ;  such 
as  that  of  Neoptolemus  in  the  Philoctetes  of  Sophocles. 
For  he  is  to  be  praised  for  not  persevering  in  what  he  was 


248 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VIU 


persuaded  to  do  by  Ulysses,  because  it  was  painful  to  him 
to  lie.     Again,  that  reasoning  of  the  sophists    which  is 
denominated   lying   or   dissembling,    is  perplexed  with 
doubt.     For  with  these  men,  in  consequence  of  wishing 
to  produce  an  assent  to  paradoxes,   in  order  that  when 
they  obtain  their  end,  they  may  appear  to  be  skilful  per- 
sons, the  syllogism  formed  by  their  reasoning  becomes 
very  dubious.     For  the  discursive  energy  of  reason  is 
bound,  when  the  person  whose  assent  they  wish  to  pro- 
cure is  unwilling  to  persist,  because  the  conclusion  does 
not  please  him ;  but  is  unable  to  proceed,  because  he 
cannot  dissolve  the  argument.     From  a  certain  reason, 
however,    it  may   happen,    that   imprudence,  together 
with  incontinence,  is  a  virtue.     For  a  man  through  in- 
continence may  do  the  contrary  to  what  he  apprehends 
ought  to  be  done ;  but  he  apprehends  that  good  things 
are  evil,  and  that  they  ought  not  to  be  done.    Hence,  he 
will  do  what  is  good,  and  not  what  is  evil.     Again,  he 
who  performs  and  pursues  what  is  delectable,  in  conse- 
quence of  being  persuaded,  and  deliberately  choosing  so 
to  do,  will  appear  to  be  a  better  character  than  the  man  who 
does  so,  not  from  reasoning,  but  from  incontinence ;  for 
he  may  be  more  easily  cured,  because  he  may  be  induced 
to  change  his  opinion.     But  the  incontinent  man  is  ob- 
noxious  to  the  proverb,  in  which  we  say,  "  When  water 
suffocates,  wluit  occasion  is  there  to  drink  r     For  if,  in- 
deed, ^  he  were  persuaded  to  do  what  he  did,  if  he  had 
been  induced  to  change  his  opinion  he  would  have  de- 
sisted ;  but  now,  not  being  persuaded,  he  nevertheless  acts 
in  this  manner.     Farther  still,  if  incontinence  and  conti- 
nence  are  conversant  with  all  things,  who  is  the  man  that 
IS  simply  incontinent  ?     For  no  one  has  every  species  of 
mcontmence ;  and  we  say  that  some  persons  are  simply 


CHAP.  III. 


ETHICS. 


249 


incontinent.  Such,  therefore,  are  the  doubts  which  hap- 
pen on  this  subject.  But  of  these,  it  is  necessary  to  take 
away  some,  and  to  leave  others ;  for  the  solution  of  a 
doubt  is  the  discovery  [of  what  is  investigated.] 


CHAPTER  III. 


In  the  first  place,  therefore,  it  must  be  considered, 
whether  the  incontinent  act  knowingly,  or  not,  and  in 
what  manner  they  act  knowingly.  In  the  next  place, 
with  what  kind  of  things  the  incontinent  and  the  conti- 
nent man  are  conversant.  I  mean,  whether  they  are 
conversant  with  all  pleasure  and  pain,  or  with  certain 
definite  pleasures  and  pains;  and  whether  the  con- 
tinent and  the  enduring  man  are  the  same,  or  dif- 
ferent characters.  And  in  a  similar  manner  we  must 
consider  such  other  things  as  are  allied  to  this  theory. 
The  beginning,  however,  of  the  speculation  is,  whether 
the  continent  and  incontinent  man  differ  in  the  things 
with  which  they  are  conversant,  or  in  the  mode  in  which 
they  are  conversant  with  them.  My  meaning  is  this, 
whether  the  incontinent  man  is  alone  incontinent,  or  not, 
because  he  is  conversant  with  these  particular  things  ?  or 
whether  it  is  because  he  is  thus  affected,  or  not  ?  or  whe- 
ther it  is  from  both  these  ?     In  the  next  place,  whether 


250 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  vrr» 


incontinence  and  continence  are  conversant  with  all  things, 
or  not  ?  For  he  who  is  simply  incontinent  is  not  conver- 
sant with  all  things,  but  with  those  things  with  which  the 
intemperate  man  is  conversant ;  nor  is  he  denominated 
incontinent  from  being  simply  affected  towards  these ;  for 
if  he  were,  incontinence  would  be  the  same  with  intem- 
perance ;  but  from  being  affected  towards  them  in  this 
particular  manner.  For  the  intemperate  man,  indeed,  is 
led  [by  his  desires]  from  deliberate  choice,  thinking  that 
it  is  always  necessary  to  pursue  the  present  delight ;  but 
the  incontinent  man  does  not  think  this  is  necessary  ;  yet 
pursues  it.  With  respect,  therefore,  to  the  assertion  that 
it  is  true  opinion  and  not  science,  through  which  mea 
act  incontinently,  it  is  of  no  consequence  to  the  present 
discussion ;  for  some  of  those  who  form  opinions  of 
things,  entertain  no  doubt  of  their  truth,  but  think  that 
they  know  accurately.  If,  therefore,  those  who  form  an 
opinion,  act  in  a  greater  degree  contrary  to  their  opinion, 
than  those  who  have  a  scientific  knowledge,  because  they 
believe  negligently,  science  will  in  no  respect  differ  from 
opinion.  For  some  persons  believe  no  less  firmly  in 
things  of  which  they  form  an  opinion,  than  others  ia 
things  which  they  know  scientifically.  But  this  is  evi- 
dent from  Heraclitus.'  Since,  however,  we  say  that  a 
man  knows  scientifically  in  a  two-fold  respect ;  for  both 
he  who  possesses  science,  indeed,  but  does  not  use  it, 
and  he  who  uses  it,  are  said  to  have  scientific  knowledge ; 
it  makes  a  difference  whether  a  man  possessing  science, 

*  **  Thus  Heraclltus  fancied  that  he  knew,  with  scientific  accuracy* 
the  things  which  he  opined ;  as  for  instance,  that  there  is  no  suck 
thing  as  motion,  and  other  notions  which  he  maintained."  Para- 
phrase on  the  Nicomachean  Ethics.  The  translation  by  Mr.  Bridg- 
man. 


CHAP.  HI. 


ETHICS. 


251 


but  not  contemplating,  does  what  he  ought  not  to  do,  or 
whether  possessing  science  and   contemplating,  he   acts 
improperly.     For  this  appears  to  be  absurd,  but  it  is  not 
if  he  does  not  contemplate.     Again,  since  there  are  two 
modes  of  propositions,  [i.  e.  universal  and  particular  pro- 
positions,]  nothing  hinders  but   that  he  who  possesses 
both  these,  may  act  contrary  to  science ;  using  indeed 
the  universal  proposition,  but  not  the  particular  one  ;  for 
particulars  are  practicable.     There  is  a  difference,  also, 
as  to  the  universal ;  for  one  difference,  indeed,  is  in  the 
man  himself,  but  the  other  is  in  the  thing.     Thus,  for 
instance,  a  man  may  know  that  dry  food  is  beneficial  to 
every  man ;  and  that  this  person  is  a  man ;  or  that  a 
thing  of  such  a  kind  is  dry  food  ;  but  whether  this  is  a 
thing  of  such  a  kind,  he  either  does  not  know,  or  he 
does  not  energise  as  if  he  did  know.     There  is  an  im- 
mense difference,  therefore,  according  to  these  modes ; 
so  that  no  absurdity  follows,  for  a  man  thus  to  know ; 
but  for  him  to  know  in  any  other  way,  it  would  be  won- 
derful.    Farther  still,  science  may  be  inherent  in  men  in 
a  way  different  from  that  which  we  have  just  now  men- 
tioned.    For  we  see  that  habit  differs  in  possessing,  ia- 
deed,  but  not  using  science  ;  so  that  a  man  possesses,  in 
a  certain  respect,  and  does  not  possess  science ;  as  is  the 
case  with  him  who  is  asleep,  or  insane,  or  intoxicated. 
jBut  in  this  way  men  are  disposed,  who  are  under  the 
influence  of  the  passions ;    for  anger,  and  the  desire  of 
venereal  pleasures,  and  certain  other  things  of  this  kind, 
evidently  produce  a  change  in  the  body  ;  and  in  some 
persons,  also,  they  produce   insanity.      It   is  manifest, 
therefore,  that  the  incontinent  man  must  be  said  to  be  af- 
fected similarly  to  these  persons.     Nor  is  it  any  indica- 
tion of  the  contrary,  if  such  persons  utter  sentences  which 


252 


THE    NICOMACHliAN 


BOOK  VIK 


are  the  progeny  0f  science  ;  for  those  who  are  under  the 
influence  of  these  passions,  will  recite  demonstrations, 
and  the  verses  of  Empedocles.  And  those  who  first 
learn  [a  science]  connect  indeed  the  words,  but  do  not 
yet  know  their  meaning  ;  for  it  is  necessary  that  science 
should  increase  with  advancing  age  ;  but  this  requires  time. 
Hence,  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  incontinent  speak 
after  the  manner  of  players,  [i.  e.  without  attending  to 
the  meaning  of  what  they  say.] 

Again,  the  cause  of  this  may  also  be  physically  sur- 
veyed  as  follows :  opinion,  indeed,  is  either  universal  or 
particular,  of  which  latter  sense  is  now  the  mistress. 
But  when  one  reason  is  produced  from  both  these,  it  is 
necessary  that,  so  far  as  pertains  to  theory,  the  soul 
should  enunciate  the  conclusion,  but  so  far  as  pertains  to 
practice,  should  immediately  act.  Thus,  for  instance,  if 
every  thing  sweet  ought  to  be  tasted,  but  this  thing  is 
sweet  as  being  some  one  of  particulars,  it  necessarily  fol- 
lows, that  he  who  is  able,  and  is  not  impeded,  must  at 
the  same  time  that  he  says  this,  act,  [i.  e.  taste  the  sweet 
thing.]  When,  therefore,  the  universal  proposition  is 
indeed  inherent,  which  prohibits  a  thing  from  being 
tasted ;  but  another  proposition  says,  that  every  thing 
which  is  sweet  is  delectable ;  and  another,  that  this  par- 
ticular thing  is  §weet;  and  this  causes  the  man  to  ener- 
gise ;  and  when,  also,  desire  happens  to  be  inherent — 
then  the  universal  proposition,  indeed,  says,  this  thing  is 
to  be  avoided,  but  desire  leads  [to  the  fruition  of  it]. 
For  each  of  the  parts  of  the  soul  is  able  to  move,  or  ex- 
cite. Hence  it  happens,  that  a  man  acts  incontinently 
both  from  reason,  in  a  certain  respect,  and  opinion; 
though  opinion  is  not  essentially,  but  from  accident,  con- 


CHAP.  III. 


ETHICS. 


253 


trary  to  reason.  For  desire,  but  not  opinion,  is  contrary 
to  right  reason.  Hence,  on  this  account,  also,  brutes 
are  not  incontinent,  because  they  have  not  a  perception 
of  universal,  but  an  imagination  and  memory  of  parti- 
culars. With  respect  to  the  manner,  however,  in  which 
ignorance  is  dissolved,  and  the  incontinent  man  again  be- 
comes in  possession  of  scientific  knowledge,  the  reason- 
ing is  the  same  as  concerning  him  who  is  intoxicated  or 
asleep,  and  is  not  peculiar  to  this  passion  ;  but  the  expla- 
nation of  it  must  be  obtained  from  physiologists.  Be- 
cause, however,  the  last  proposition  is  the  opinion  of  the 
sensible  object,  and  is  the  mistress  of  actions,  he  who  is 
under  the  influence  of  passion  either  has  not  this  propo- 
sition, or  he  has  it  in  such  a  way,  that  from  possessing  he 
has  not  a  scientific  knowledge  of  it,  but  merely  enun- 
ciates it,  just  as  he  who  is  intoxicated  recites  the  verses 
of  Empedocles ;  and  likewise  because  the  last  propo- 
sition is  not  universal,  and  does  not  appear  to  be 
similarly  scientific  with  that  proposition  which  is  univer- 
sal.     That  also  which  Socrates  *  investigated,  appears  in  ' 


*  Here  Aristotle  obviously  shows,  that  in  apparently  opposing 
Socrates,  (or,  which  is  the  same  thing,  Plato,)  he  in  reality  explains 
his  opinion.  For  when,  as  Aristotle  informs  us  in  the  2d  chapter, 
Socrates  said, «  That  no  one  acted  contrary  to  what  he  apprehended 
it  was  best  to  do,  except  from  ignorance  of  what  was  best,"  his 
meaning  was,  that  no  one  acted  contrary  to  what  he  thought  was 
best,  when  he  possessed  science  properly  so  called ;  viz.  when  he 
had  not  only  a  scientific  knowledge  of  the  universal,  but  also  of  the 
particulai^proposition.  But  the  incontinent  man  errs,  because  he 
alone  knows,  scientifically,  the  universal  proposition,  that  a  certain 
tiling  universally  is  not  to  be  done  ;  but  he  does  not  know  that  this 
particular  thing  is  not  to  be  done,  and  that  it  is  not  now  to  be  done. 

Conformably  to  this  also,  Plato  says,  that  all  errors  are  involun- 
tary, because  there  is  need  of  a  false  proposition,  to  the  existence 


254 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VII. 


this  case  to  happen.  For  the  passion  is  not  produced, 
when  that  which  is  science,  properly  so  called,  is  seen  to 
be  present ;  nor  is  this  science  drawn  about  [so  as  to  co- 
operate with  passion,]  but  this  must  be  asserted  of  the 
sensitive  power.  And  thus  much  concerning  the  know- 
ledge and  ignorance  of  the  incontinent  man,  and  how  he 
may  act  incontinently  accompanied  with  knowledge. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


But  whether  any  one  is  simply  incontinent,  or  all  that 
are  incontinent  are  partially  so,  and  if  there  is  any  one 
who  is  simply  incontinent,  what  the  things  are  with  which 
he  is  conversant,  must  in  the  next  place  be  shown  by  us. 
That  the  continent,  therefore,  and  men  of  endurance, 
and  that  the  incontinent  and  effeminate,  are  conversant 


of  error.  And  the  falsehood  takes  place  about  the  major  proposi- 
tion. Thus  Orestes  says,  "  My  mother  has  killed  my  father : 
Every  woman  who  kills  her  own  husband  ought  to  be  killed  :  My 
mother,  therefore,  ought  to  be  killed."  Here  it  is  evident,  that 
Orestes  erred  through  the  major  proposition.  For  though  every 
woman  who  kills  her  husband  ought  to  be  killed,  yet  not  by  her 
own  son.  Since,  therefore,  the  major  proposition  is  false,  on  this  ac- 
count Orestes  is  said  to  have  erred  involuntarfly,  because  we  fall 
into  falsehood  involuntarily.  For  no  one  willmgly  admits  what  is 
false,  since  all  men  naturally  love  truth. 


/ 


C> 


CHAP.  IV. 


ETHICS. 


255 


wnth  pleasures  and  pains,  is  evident.     Of  those  things, 
however,  which  produce  pleasure,  some  indeed  are  ne- 
cessary ;  but  others,  though  they  are  eligible  of  them- 
selves,  yet   have  excess.      But  necessaries,  indeed,  are 
things  which  have  reference  to  the  body  ;  I  mean  such 
things  as  pertain  to  food,  and  the  use  of  venereal  plea- 
sures, and  such-like  corporeal  concerns,  about  which  we 
place  intemperance  and  temperance.   Other  things,  how- 
e\^er,  are  not  indeed  necessary,  yet  are  eligible  of  them- 
selves;  1   mean  such  as  victory,   honour,  wealth,  and 
such-like  good  and  delectable  things.     Those,  therefore, 
who  exceed  in  these  contrary  to  the  right  reason  which  is 
in  them,  we  do  not  indeed  denominate  simply  inconti- 
nent, but  with  an  addition  we  call  them  incontinent  of 
riches,  of  gain,  of  honour,  and  of  anger ;  but  we   do 
not  call  them  simply  incontinent,  as  being  different  from 
those  that  are  so,  and  denominated  from  similitude ;  just 
as  the  name  of  a  certain  person  who  was  victorious  in 
the  Olympic  games,  was  Jnthropos,  i.  e.  ma7i ;  for  he 
had  as  a  proper  the  common  name  of  man,  and  yet  at 
the  same  time  he  was  different  [from  man  universal,  or 
the  species  man,  as  being  an  individual.]     As  an  indica- 
tion  of  this,  incontinence  indeed  is  blamed,  not  only  as 
an  error,  but  also  as  a  certain  vice,  either  simply,  or  par- 
tially ;  but  no  one  blames  those  who  are  incontinent  of 
honour,  or  gain,  &c.  as  simply  bad.    With  respect,  how- 
ever,  to  those  who  are  conversant  with  corporeal  enjoy- 
ments, with  which   we  say  the  temperate  and  intemper- 
ate  man  are  conversant,  he  who  without  deliberate  choice 
pursues  the  excesses  of  delectable,  and  avoids  the  ex- 
cesses of  painful  things,  viz.  hunger  and  thirst,  heat  and 
cold,  and  every  thing  pertaining  to  the  touch  and  the 
taste,  yet  contrary  to  deliberate  choice  and  the  reasoning 


256 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VII. 


power,  is  called  incontinent,  not  with  an  addition  of  this 
or  that  thing,  as  of  anger,  but  he  is  only  simply  called 
incontinent.  But  as  an  indication  of  this,  those  who 
are  conversant  with  the  one  are  called  effeminate,  but  not 
those  who  are  conversant  with  the  other.  Hence,  we 
arrange  the  incontinent  and  intemperate,  and  also  the 
continent  and  temperate  man,  in  the  same  class,  but  not 
those  who  are  incontinent  of  honour,  or  gain,  &c.  be- 
cause they  are,  in  a  certain  respect,  conversant  with  the 
same  pleasures  and  pains.  Though,  however,  they  are 
conversant  with  the  same  things,  yet  not  after  the  same 
manner ;  for  the  intemperate,  indeed,  pursue  depraved 
pleasures  from  deliberate  choice,  but  the  incontinent  do 
not.  Hence,  we  rather  call  him  intemperate,  who  ei- 
ther not  at  all  desiring,  or  desiring  slightly,  pursues 
excessive  pleasures,  and  avoids  moderate  pains,  than  him 
who  pursues  the  one  and  avoids  the  other,  in  conse- 
quence of  being  influenced  by  vehement  desire.  For 
what  would  the  former  character  do  if  he  were  impelled 
by  robust  desire,  and  suffered  violent  pain  from  the  want 
of  necessary  things  ?  Since,  however,  of  desires  and 
pleasures,  some  rank  in  the  genus  of  things  beautiful 
and  worthy ;  for  of  things  delectable,  some  are  natu- 
rally eligible,  others  are  contrary  to  these,  and  others 
have  an  intermediate  subsistence,  agreeably  to  the  divi- 
sion we  have  before  made ;  and  these  last  are  such  as 
riches,  gain,  victory,  and  honour :  in  all  these,  therefore, 
and  things  of  the  like  kind,  and  in  those  that  have  an 
intermediate  subsistence,  men  are  not  blamed  for  being 
merely  influenced  by  the  passions,  and  for  desiring  and 
loving,  but  for  the  manner  in  which  they  are  influenced 
by  them,  and  for  indulging  them  to  excess.  Hence,  with 
respect  to  those  who  are  vanquished  by  the  passions,  or 


CHAP.  IV. 


ETHICS. 


257 


pursue  any  thing  naturally  beautiful  and  good,  contrary 
to  reason,  such  as  those   who  pursue  honour  more  than 
is  proper,  or  are  irrationally  attached  to  their  parents  and 
children  ;  for   these  also   rank   among  the    number   of 
things  that  are  good,  and  those  who  pay  attention  to 
these  are  praised  ;  yet  there  is  at  the  same  time  a  certain 
excess  even  in  these  things,  if  any  one,  like  Niobe,  con- 
tends about  them  even   with  the  gods,  or  like  Satyrus, 
who  for  his  attachment  to  his  father  was  called  Philopa- 
tor  ;  for  he  appeared  through  this  attachment  to  be  very 
infatuated.     There  is,  therefore,  no  depravity,  indeed,  in 
these   things,  for  the  reason  already  assigned,  because 
each  of  these  things  is  naturally  eligible  of  itself;  but 
the  excesses  of  them  are  bad,    and  are  to  be  avoided. 
This,  however,  is  not  the  case  with  incontinence ;  for  in- 
continence is  not  only  to  be  avoided,  but  is  also  among 
the  number  of  blameable  things.     But  from  the  simili- 
tude of  the  passion,  in  speaking  about  each  of  these,   it 
is  usual  to  add  the  term  incontinence,  just    as    we  say, 
that  a  man  is  a  bad  physician,  or  a  bad  player,  whom  we 
should  not  simply  call  a  bad  man.     As,  therefore,  we  do 
not  here  call  these,  simply  bad  men,  because  each  of  these 
is  not  a  vice,  but  similar  to  vice  from  analogy;  so   like- 
wise there,  [viz.  in  the  immoderate  pursuit  of  honour, 
gain,  &c.]  those  things  only  are  to  be  considered  as  in- 
continence and  continence,  which   are   conversant  with 
the  same  things  as  temperance  and   intemperance.     But 
with  respect  to  incontinence  in  anger,  we   speak    of  it 
from  similitude.     Hence,  also,   by  making  an  addition, 
we  say  that  a  man  is  incontinent  of  anger,  just  as  we 
say,  that  he  is  incontinent  of  honour  or  gain. 


Arist. 


VOL.  II. 


0-55 


THE    NICOMACIIEAN 


BOOK  Vlf. 


CHAPIER  V. 


Since,  however,  some  things  are  naturally  delectable, 
^nd  of  these  some  are  simply  so,  but  others  to  the  ge- 
nera of  animals  and  men ;  but  other  things  are  not  na- 
turally delectable,  but  some  things  are  pleasing  in  con- 
sequence of  mutilationfi,  and  others  are  so  partly  from 
custom,  and  partly  from  depraved  natures — this  being 
the  case,  simif^ar  habits  may  be  perceived  in  each  of  these. 
But  by  savage  habits,  I  mean  such  a  habit  as  that  of  the 
woman  who  is  said  to  have  cut  open  the  bellies  of  preg- 
nant women,  and  to  have  devoured  the  fcetus  ;  or  such 
habits  as  certain  savage  nations  about  Pontus  are  said  to 
possess.     For  of  these,  some  are  delighted  to  feed   on 
faw,  and  others  on  human  flesh,  and  others  at  banquets 
feast  each  other  with  their  own  children.    Or  such  a  ha- 
bit as  Phalaris  is  said  to  have  possessed,   [for  he  is  re- 
ported to  have  eaten  his  own  son.]     These  habits,  there- 
fore, are  savage.     Some  of  these  habits,  however,  are 
produced  in  certain  persons  from  disease  and  insanity,  as 
was  the  case  with  him  who  immolated  and  eat  his  mo- 
ther,' and  also  with  him  who  eat  the  Hver  of  his  fellow- 


'  O  Ssgln?  0  rejy  Tligra-)  /BocrtXiv?  ^ocm^i  i^xyvi  rnv  ixvrov  f^Yin^et  xge*y^- 
vn^r^^.  AspAsius.— i.  e.  «  Xerxes,  king  of  the  Persians,  being  i'^- 
sane,  ^at  his  mother,  having  for  this  purpose  torn  her  in  pieces.'* 


m- 


CHAP.  V. 


ETHICS, 


2zr9 


servant.     But  other  savage  habits,  either  originate  from 
disease,  or  from  custom,  such  as  evulsions  of  the  hairs, 
biting  the  nails,  and  besides  these  eating  coals  and  earth  ; 
to  which  may  be  added  the  venereal  connexion  of  males 
with  males.     For  these  habits  are  produced  in  some  per- 
sons by  nature,  but  in  others  from  custom ;  as  being  ac- 
customed  to  them  from  childhood.     No  one,  therefore, 
would  call  those  in  whom  nature  is  the  cause  of  these 
habits,  incontinent ;  as  neither  are  women  called  incon- 
tinent,  because  in  the  venereal  connexion  they  are  not 
active,  but  passive.     And  in  a  similar  manner  those  are 
not  called  incontinent,  who  are  in  a  diseased  condition 
from  custom.      The   possession,  therefore,  of  each  of 
these,  is  something  beyond  the  boundaries  of  vice,  in  the 
same  manner  as  a  savage  nature.     But  when  possessing 
these  propensities,  to  subdue,  or  be  subdued  by  them,  is 
not  simple  continence  or  incontinence,  but  is  only  so 
from  similitude,  just  as  he  who  subsists  after  this  man- 
ner with  respect  to  anger  is  incontinent  of  this  passion, 
but  passion  is  not  be  called  incontinent.     For  every  vice, 
folly,  timidity,  intemperance  and  ferocity,  when  excessive^ 
is  either  savage  or  the  effect  of  disease.     For  he  who  is 
naturally  so  disposed  as  to  be  afraid  of  every  thing,  even 
though  a  mouse  should  make  a  noise,   is  timid  according 
to  a  savage  timidity;  but  he  who   is  afraid  of  a  cat  is 
timid  from  disease.     And  among  the  number  of  the  stu- 
pid,  those  who  are  most  irrational  from  nature,  and  live 
only  from  sense,  resemble  savage  animals,  as  is  the  case 
with  some  nations  of  remote  barbarians ;  but  those  who 
are  so  from  disease,  such  as  epilepsy,  or  insanity,  these 
are  in  a  morbid  state.    It  is,  however,  possible,  that  some 
one  may  sometimes  possess  these  habits,  and  yet  not  be 


260 


THE     NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  Vll. 


vanquished  by  them ;  I  mean,  as  if,  for  instance,  Pha- 
laris  desiring  to  eat  his  son  should  refrain  from  so  domg, 
or  should  abstain  from  absurd  venereal  pleasure.     And 
it  is  not  only  possible  to  have  these  propensities,  but  also 
to  be  vanquished  by  them.     As,  therefore,  with  respect 
to  depravity,  that  which  pertains  to  man,  is  simply  said 
to  be  depravity  ;  but  that  which  subsists  with  an  addition, 
IS  said  to  be  a  savage  or  diseased  depravity,  but  is  not 
simple  depravity  ;  after  the  same  manner  with  respect  to 
incontinence,  it  is   evident  that  one  kind  is  savage,   but 
another  the  effect  of  disease,  while  that  alone  is  simply  m- 
continence  which  subsists  according  to  human  intempe- 
ranee.     It  is  evident,  therefore,   that  incontinence  and 
continence  are  alone  conversant  with  those  things  with 
which  intemperance  and  temperance  are  conversant,  and 
that  another  species  of  incontinence  subsists  about  other 
things,  which  is  denominated  metaphorically,   and  not 
simply. 


CHAP.  VI. 


ETHICS. 


261 


CHAPTER    VI. 


Let   us,  however,  now  consider  whether  the  inconti- 
nence of  anger  is  not  less  base  than  the  incontinence  of 
desires.     For  anger,  indeed,  seems  to  hear  something  of 
reason,  but  to  hear  it  negligently ;    just  like  hasty  ser- 
vants, who  run  away  before  they  have  heard  the  whole 
of  what  is  said  to  them,  and  thus  err  in  the  performance 
of  what  they  are  ordered  to  do  ;  or  like  dogs  who  bark 
at  a  noise  alone,  before  they  perceive  whether  he  who 
makes  it  is  a  friend  or  not.     Thus  also  anger,  through 
the  heat  and  celerity  of  its  nature,   hears,  indeed,  reason, 
but  does  not  hear  its  mandates,  in  consequence  of  impe- 
tuously tending  to   vengeance.     For  reason,  indeed,  or 
the   imagination,  renders  it  evident  that  something  has 
been  done  attended  with  insolence  or   contempt ;    but 
anger,  as  if  syllogistically  concluding  that  it  is  necessary 
to  be  hostile  to  one  who  has  acted  in  this   manner,   is 
immediately  enraged.     Desire,  however,  if  sense,  or  rea- 
son [corrupted  by  sense],  only  says  that  a  thing  is  delec- 
table, rushes  to  the  enjoyment  of  it.     Hence,  anger  in  a 
certain  respect  follows  reason  ;  but  desire  does  not.    De- 
sire, therefore,  is  more  base  than  anger.     For  he  who 
is  incontinent  of  anger,  is  after  a  manner  vanquished  by 
reason  ;  but  he  who  is  incontinent  of  desire,  is  subdued 
by  desire,  and  not  by  reason.    Again,  it  is  more  pardon- 


2e^ 


THE   NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VII. 


able  to  follow  the  natural  appetites,  since  such  desires  as 
are  common  to  all  men  are  more  pardonable,  and  so  far 
as  they  are  common.     But  anger  and  asperity  are  more 
natural  than  desires  which  are  excessive,  and  which  are 
not  necessary.     Thus  one  who  was  accused  of  striking 
his  father  said,  as  an  apology  for  it,  that  his  own  father, 
and  even  his  grandfather,  committed  the  same  fault; 
and  pointing  to  his  child,  he  likewise,  said  he,  will  strike 
me  when  he  becomes  a  man  ;  for  this  is  a  family  fail- 
ing.    A  certain  person,  also,  being  dragged  about  by  his 
son,  ordered  him  to  stop  at  the  gates  of  his  house ;  for 
he  likewise  had  dragged  his  father  as  far  as  to  that  place. 
Farther  still,  those  who  act  more  insidiously   are  more 
unjust.     The  irascible  man,  therefore,  is  not  insidious, 
nor  is  anger,  but  he  is  open  in  what  he  does.     Desire^ 
however,  is  fraudulent,  as  it  is  said  of  Venus, 

The  Cyprian  goddess,  skilPd  In  weaving  wiles.  ^ 

And  as  Homer  says,  [speaking  of  her  cestus, J 

In  this  was  every  art,  and  every  charm. 
To  win  the  wisest,  and  the  coldest  warm  ; 
Fond  love,  the  gentle  vow,  the  gay  desire. 
The  kind  deceit,  the  still  reviving  lire. 
Persuasive  speech,  and  more  persuasive  sighs, 
Silence  that  spoke,  and  eloquence  of  eyes.  ' 

Hence,  if  this  incontinence  is  more  unjust,  it  is  also  more 
base  than  that  which  pertains  to  anger^  and  this  is  sim- 

'  Iliad,  14,  V.  214,  &c.  The  translation  by  Pope.  I  have  given 
the  whole  passage  to  which  Aristotle  alludes  ;  for  he  only  quotes 
the  two  last  words  of  the  first  line  of  the  original  and  the  last 
line. 


<:HAP.  VI. 


ETHICS. 


263 


ply  incontinence,  and  in  a  certain  respect  vice.  Again, 
no  one  who  is  pained  acts  insolently  [i.  e.  lasciviously] 
towards  another  person  ;  but  every  one  who  acts  from 
the  impulse  of  anger,  acts  with  pain.  He,  however,  who 
conducts  himself  insolently  towards  another,  acts  witfi 
pleasure.  If,  therefore,  those  things  with  which  it  is 
especially  just  to  be  angry  are  more  unjust,  the  inconti- 
nence, also,  which  subsists  through  desire  is  more  un- 
just ;  for  anger  is  not  attended  with  insolence. '  Hence, 
it  is  evident  that  the  incontinence  which  is  conversant 
with  desires,  is  more  base  than  that  which  is  conversant 
with  anger,  and,  also,  that  continence  and  incontinence 
are  conversant  with  corporeal  pleasures.  The  differen- 
ces, however,  of  these  must  be  assumed.  For,  as  we  said 
in  the  beginning,  some  desires  are  human  and  natural, 
both  in  their  genus  and  magnitude ;  but  others  are  sa- 
vage ;  and  others  subsist  from  mutilations  and  diseases. 
But  with  the  first  of  these,  temperance  and  intemperance 
are  alone  conversant.  Hence,  we  neither  call  brutes  tem- 
perate, nor  intemperate,  except  metaphorically,  though 
one  genus  of  animals  differs  in  short  from  another,  in  in- 
solence, in  salaciousness,  and  in  voracity.  For  they  have 
neither  any  deliberate  choice,  nor  reasoning  process ;  but 
they  revolt  from  nature,  in  the  same  manner  as  insane 
men.  Ferocity,  however,  is  a  less  evil  than  vice,  but  it  is 
more  terrible ;  for  that  which  is  most  excellent,  is  not 
corrupted  through  this,  as  it  is  in  men ;  but  those  that 
labour  under  this  malady  are  deprived  of  it,  [i.  e.  of  rea- 
son.] It  is  just,  therefore,  as  if  that  which  is  inanimate 
should  be  compared  with  that  which  is  animated,  in  order 


'  By  y^^<5  here,  or  insolence,  Aristotle  probably  means  the  insKJ- 
Icnce  which  accompanies  lascivioubness. 


264 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VII- 


to  know  which  of  the  two  is  the  worse.  For  the  impro- 
bity is  always  more  innoxious  which  is  without  a  princi- 
ple ;  but  intellect  is  a  principle.  Hence,  a  similar  thing 
takes  place,  as  if  injustice  should  be  compared  with  an 
unjust  man  ;  for  it  is  possible  that  the  one  may  be  worse 
than  the  other.  For  a  bad  man  may  be  the  cause  of  aa 
infinitely  greater  number  of  evils  than  a  brute. 


CHAPTER    VII. 


With  respect,  however,  to  the  pleasures  and  pains 
which  subsist  through  the  touch  and  the  taste,  and  also 
with  respect  to  the  desires  and  aversions  pertaining  to 
these,  about  which  intemperance  and  temperance  have 
been  before  defined ;  it  is  possible,  indeed,  that  a  man 
may  be  so  disposed,  as  to  be  vanquished  by  those  plea- 
sures and  pains,  to  which  the  multitude  are  superior  ; 
and  it  is  also  possible,  that  he  may  vanquish  those  by 
which  the  multitude  are  vanquished.  But  of  these  cha- 
racters, he  who  is  vanquished  by  pleasures  is  incontinent, 
and  he  who  vanquishes  them  is  continent.  He,  also,  who 
is  vanquished  by  pains  is  effeminate,  but  he  who  van- 
quishes them  is  a  man  of  endurance.  The  habits,  how- 
ever, of  most  men  are  between  these,  though  they  rather 
verge  to  the  worse  habits.    Since,  however,  of  pleasures. 


CHAP.  VH. 


ETHICS. 


265 


some  are  necessary,  but  others  are  not,  and  those  that 
are  necessary  are  so  to  a  certain  extent ;  but  the  excesses 
and  defects  are  not  necessary  ;  and  the  like  also  takes 
place  in  desires  and  pains ; — this  being  the  case,  he  who 
pursues  the  excesses  of  pleasures,  or  who  pursues  plea- 
sures excessively,  or  from  deliberate  choice,  and  on  their 
own  account,  and  not  from  any  thing  else  which  may 
happen,  is  an  intemperate  man.  For  this  man  will  ne- 
cessarily nbt  repent  of  his  conduct ;  so  that  he  is  incura- 
ble. But  he  who  is  deficient  in  the  pursuit  of  pleasures, 
IS  opposed  to  this  character ;  and  he  who  subsists  in  a 
medium  between  both,  is  the  temperate  man.  In  a  simi- 
lar manner,  also,  he  is  intemperate,  who  avoids  corporeal 
pains,  not  because  he  is  vanquished  by  them,  but  from 
deliberate  choice.  But  of  those  who  pursue  pleasures, 
yet  not  from  deliberate  choice,  one,  indeed,  is  led  to  the 
pursuit  through  pleasure  ;  but  another  through  an  avoid- 
ance of  pain  ;  so  that  they  differ  from  each  other.  It 
will,  however,  be  obvious  to  every  one,  that  he  is  a 
worse  character,  who  not  desiring,  or  desiring  but  slight- 
ly, does  any  thing  which  is  base,  than  him  who  desires 
vehemently;  and  also  that  he  who  not  being  angry  strikes 
a  man,  is  a  worse  character  than  the  man  who  strikes 
another  through  the  impulse  of  anger.  For  what  would 
such  a  one  do,  if  he  were  influenced  by  passion  ?  Hence, 
the  intemperate  is  worse  than  the  incontinent  man.  Of 
the  characters,  therefore,  that  we  have  mentioned,  the 
one  has  more  the  form  of  effeminacy,  but  the  other  is 
incontinent.  But  the  continent  is  opposed  to  the  incon- 
tinent, and  the  man  of  endurance  to  the  effeminate  man. 
For  endurance,  indeed,  consists  in  resisting,  but  conti- 
nence in  subduing.  It  is  one  thing,  however,  to  resist, 
and  another  to  subdue,  just  as  it  is  one  thing  not  to  be 


f  I 


266 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VU. 


vanquished,  and  another  to    vanquish.     Hence,   conti- 
nence is  more  eh'gible  than  endurance.     But  he  who 
fails  in  those  things  in  which  the  multitude  resist,  and  are 
able  to  resist,  is  effeminate  and  luxuriously  dehcate.    For 
luxurious  delicacy  is  a  certain  effeminacy ;  as  when  a  man 
draws  his  garment  on  the  ground  lest  he  should  be  pain- 
ed by  the  labour  of  {lolding  it  up ;  and  [by  his  manner 
of  living]  imitates  one  who  is  ill,  yet  does  not  think  he 
is  miserable,  though  he  resembles  one  who  is 'miserable. 
The  like,  also,  takes  place  with  respect  to  continence 
and  incontinence.     For  it  is  not  wonderful  if  a  man  is 
vanquished   by   strong   and   transcendent   pleasures   or 
pains ;  but  he  deserves  to  be  pardoned,  if,  tliough  van- 
quished, he  makes  a  resistance,   like  the  Philoctetes  of 
Theodectes,  when  bit  by  a  viper,  or  the  Cercyon  of  Car- 
cinus  in  his  Alope  ; '  or  like  those  who  endeavouring  to 
restrain  their  laughter  burst  forth  into  a  profuse  laugh, 
as  it  happened  to  Xenophantus.     But  he  is  very  blame- 
able  who   is  vanquished  by  those  pleasures  which  the 
multitude   are  able  to   resist,   and   is  unable  to  oppose 
them ;  and  this  not  through  the  nature  of  his  race,   or 
from  disease,  as  is  the  case  with  the  Persian  kings,  with 
whom  effeminacy  is  hereditary,  and  who  on  this  account 
are  as  females  when  compared  to  males.      The  jocose 
man,  also,  appears  to  be  intemperate,  but  he  is  effemi- 
nate ;  for  jesting    is  a  relaxation,  since  it  is  a  repose 
[from  serious  and  laborious  pursuits.]     But  the  jocose 
man  ranks  among  the  number  of  those  who  exceed   in 


'  "  Carcinus  was  a  tmglc  pocr,  and  Alope  was  the  daughter  of 
Cercyon,  who,  understanding  that  the  chastity  of  his  daughter  had 
been  violated,  could  no  longer  bear  to  live,  through  the  grie£  which 
he  felt  on  the  occasion."    Aspasius. 


CHAP.  VIII. 


ETHICS. 


267 


this  relaxation.  Witli  respect  to  incontinence,  however, 
one  kind  is  precipitate,  but  another  is  from  imbecility. 
For  some,  indeed,  having  deliberated,  do  not  persist  in 
what  they  have  deliberated,  on  account  of  passion ;  but 
others,  in  consequence  of  not  having  deliberated,  are  led 
{[captive]  by  passion.  For  some  persons,  just  as  those 
who  have  previously  tickled  themselves,  are  not  tickled 
by  others,  so  these,  in  consequence  of  previously  per- 
ceiving, and  foreseeing  [the  future  perturbation,]  and 
having  pre-excited  themselves,  and  their  reasoning 
power,  are  not  vanquished  by  passion,  whether  it  be  de- 
lectable, or  painful.  But  persons  of  acute  feelings,  and 
those  who  are  melancholy,  are  especially  incontinent,  ac- 
cording to  precipitate  incontinence.  For  the  former,  in- 
deed, through  celerity,  and  the  latter  through  vehemence, 
do  not  wait  for  the  decision  of  reason,  because  they  are 
disposed  to  follow  the  imagination. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


The    intemperate  man,  however,  as  we  have  before 
observed,  is  not  inclined  to  repentance ;  for  he  persists  ^^ 
in  his  deliberate  choice ;  but  every   incontinent   man  is    ■ 
inclined   to  repent.      Hence,    the   thing  is   not  as  we 
doubted  it  might  be  j  but  the  intemperate  man,  indeed. 


268 


THE  NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VIII. 


is  incurable,  and  the  incontinent  man  is  curable.  For 
depravity  appears  to  resemble  the  diseases  of  the  dropsy 
and  consumption,  but  incontinence  seems  to  resemble  the 
epilepsy;  since  the  former,  indeed,  is  continued  without 
interruption,  but  the  latter  is  not  a  continued  improbity. 
And,  in  short,  the  genus  of  incontinence  is  different  from 
that  of  vice;  for  vice,  indeed,  is  latent,  but  incontinence 
is  not  latent.  But  of  these  characters,  the  precipitately 
incontinent  are  better  than  those  who  possess  reason,  in- 
deed, but  do  not  abide  in  its  decisions  ;  for  the  latter  are 
vanquished  by  a  less  passion,  and  not  without  previous 
deliberation,  like  the  former.  For  the  man  who  is  incon- 
tinent from  imbecility,  resembles  those  who  become 
rapidly  intoxicated,  and  from  a  little  wine,  and  from  less 
than  that  through  which  most  men  become  intoxicated. 
That  incontinence,  therefore,  is  not  a  vice  is  evident ;  but 
perhaps  it  is  partially  so.  For  incontinence  is  contrary, 
but  vice  is  conformable  to  deliberate  choice.  The  intern- 
perate,  and  the  incontinent  man,  however,  are  similar  in 
their  actions,  just  as  Demodocus  said  of  the  Milesians : 
viz.  "  The  Milesians  are  not  indeed  foolish,  yet  they  act 
as  if  they  were  so."  Thus,  also,  incontinent  men  are 
not  indeed  unjust,  yet  they  act  unjustly.  Since,  there- 
fore, the  incontinent  man  is  one  who  does  not  pursue  cor- 
poreal pleasures  in  excess  and  contrary  to  right  reason, 
from  persuasion,  but  the  intemperate  man  because  he  is 
intemperate  is  persuaded  to  pursue  such  pleasures ;  — 
this  being  the  case,  the  former  is  easily  induced  to  change 
his  opinion,  but  the  latter  is  not.  For  virtue  preserves 
the  principle  [of  right  conduct,]  but  depravity  corrupts 
It ;  and  in  actions  that  for  the  salce  of  which  [or  the  end] 
is  the  principle,  in  the  same  manner  as  hypotheses  are 
principles  in  the  mathematics.     Hence,  neither  in   the 


CHAP.  viir. 


ETHICS* 


269 


mathematics,  nor  here,  are  principles  to  be  taught ;  but 
virtue,  either  physical  or  ethical,  is  the  cause  of  right  opi- 
nion concerning  the  principle  [of  conduct.]  A  man  of 
this  description,  therefore,  is  temperate,  but  the  contrary 
character  is  an  intemperate  man.  There  is  also  a  certain 
person  who  through  passion  departs  from  right  reason, 
whom  passion,  indeed,  so  subdues,  that  he  does  not  act 
conformably  to  right  reason  ;  but  yet  passion  does  not 
so  far  subdue  him  as  to  cause  him  to  be  persuaded,  that 
pleasures  of  this  description  ought  to  be  largely  pursued. 
This  person  is  the  incontinent  man,  who  is  better  than 
the  intemperate,  and  is  not  absolutely  a  bad  man.  For 
in  him  that  which  is  best,  the  principle  [of  right  con- 
duct,]  is  saved.  But  there  is  another  person  contrary  to 
this  [viz.  the  continent  man,]  who  persists  [in  the  deci- 
sion  of  reason,]  and  is  not  diverted  from  it  through  pas- 
sion.  From  these  things,  therefore,  it  is  evident,  that 
one  of  these  habits  is  worthy,  but  the  other  bad. 


570 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  vir« 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Whether,  therefore,  is  he  the  continent  man,  who  per- 
sists in  any  kind  of  reason,  and  in  any  kind  of  deliberate 
choice,  or  he  who  persists  in  riglit  reason  ?  And  whe- 
ther is  he  the  incontinent  man,  who  does  not  persist  in 
any  kind  of  deliberate  choice,  nor  in  any  kind  of  reason, 
or  he  who  persists  in  a  false  reason,  and  in  an  erroneous 
deliberate  choice,  as  it  was  doubted  by  us  before  ?  Or 
Khali  we  say  that  the  continent  man  is  one  who  persists 
from  accident  in  any  kind  of  reason  and  deliberate  choice, 
but  essentially  in  true  reason,  and  right  deliberate  choice, 
but  that  the  incontinent  man  does  not  thus  persist  ?  For 
>f  any  one  chooses,  or  pursues,  that  thing  on  account  of 
this,  he  pursues,  indeed,  and  chooses  this  thing  per  se  ; 
but  the  former  thing  from  accident.  We  speak,  however, 
of  that  which  is  per  se  simply.  Hence,  it  is  possible  that 
the  one  may  persist  in  any  kind  of  opinion,  but  that  the 
other  may  abandon  any  kind  of  opinion  ;  but  the  one 
?,rrnply  persists  in  true  opinion,  and  the  other  does  not. 
There  are,  however,  some  persons  who  are  disposed  to 
persist  in  an  opinion,  and  these  are  those  who  are  called 
pertinacious,  such  as  the  obstinate,  and  those  who  are  not 
easily  persuaded  to  relinquish  their  opinion,  who  have^ 
mdeed,  something  similar  to  the  continent  man,  in  the 


CHAP.  IX. 


ETHICS. 


271 


same  manner  as  the  prodigal  has  to  the  liberal,  and  the 
audacious   to  the  confident  man  ;   but  in  many  things 
they  are  different.-    For  the  confident  man,  indeed,  is  not 
I  changed  through  passion  and  desire  ;  since  when  it  so 
happens,  he  is  easily  persuaded.     But  the  pertinacious 
I  man  is  not  persuaded  by  reason  ;  since  most  of  this  de- 
\scription  admit  desire,  and  are  led  by  pleasures.     Those 
persons,    however,  are  pertinacious,   who  have  certain 
opinions  of  their  own,  and  also  unlearned  and  rustic  men. 
And  those,  indeed,  who  have  certain  opinions  of  their 
own,  are  pertinacious  through  pleasure  and  pain.     For 
they  rejoice  when  they  are  victorious,  if  they  are  not  in- 
duced to   change  their  opinion,   and  they   are  grieved 
when  their  opinions,  as  if  they  were  decrees,  are  without 
efficacy.     Hence,    they  resemble  the  incontinent  more 
than  the  continent  man.     But  there  are  certain  persons 
who  do  not  persist  in  their  opinions,  yet  not  through  in- 
continence, such  as  Neoptolemus  in  the  Philoctetes  of 
Sophocles  ;  since  he  did  not  persist  in  his  opinion,  yet, 
not  on  account  of  pleasure,  but  on  account  of  the  beauti- 
ful in  conduct.     For  to  him  it  was  beautiful  to  speak  the 
truth,  though  he  was  persuaded  by  Ulysses  to  lie.     For 
not  every  one  vi^ho  does  any  thing  on  account  of  pleasure 
is  intemperate,  or  a  bad,  or  an  incontinent  man  ;  but  he 
is  intemperate  who  does  it  on  account  of  base  pleasure. 
Since,  however,  there  is  a  character  of  such  a  kind  as  to 
be  delighted  less  than  is  proper  with  corporeal  pleasures, 
and  not  to  abide  in  the  decisions  of  reason,  the  continent 
man  is  a  medium  between  this  character  and  the  inconti- 
nent man.     For  the  incontinent  man,  indeed,  does  not 
abide  in  the  decisions  of  reason,  because  he  is  delighted 
with  corporeal  pleasures  more  than  is  proper,  but  this 
man,  because  he  is  delighted  with  them  less  than  is  pro- 


272 


THE    NICOMACHKAN 


BOOK    VII. 


per.  The  continent  man,  however,  abides  in  the  decision 
of  reason,  and  is  not  changed  through  any  thing  else.  It 
is  also  necessary,  if  continence  is  a  good  thing,  that  both 
the  contrary  habits  should  be  bad,  as  it  appears  that  they 
are.  Because,  however,  one  of  these  characters  [viz.  the 
man  who  is  delighted  less  than  is  proper  with  corporeal 
pleasures,]  exists  but  among  a  few  men,  and  is  rarely 
seen  ;  hence,  as  temperance  appears  to  be  contrary  to  in- 
temperance alone,  thus,  also,  continence  to  incontinence. 
But  since  many  things  are  denominated  from  similitude, 
the  continence  also  of  the  temperate  man  follows  accord- 
ing to  similitude.  For  both  the  continent  and  the  tem- 
perate man,  do  nothing  contrary  to  reason,  through  the 
influence  of  corporeal  pleasures  ;  but  the  one,  indeed, 
[viz.  the  continent  man]  possesses,  but  the  other  does  not 
possess  depraved  desires.  And  the  one,  indeed,  is  a  man 
of  such  a  description,  as  not  to  be  delighted  contrary  to 
reason,  but  the  other  is  delighted,  indeed,  yet  is  not  led 
by  this  delight.  The  incontinent,  and  the  intemperate 
man,  also  resemble  each  other,  though,  indeed,  they  are 
diflferent  characters.  Both,  however,  pursue  corporeal 
delights ;  but  the  latter,  indeed,  thinking  that  it  is  pro- 
per, and  the  other  not  thinking  that  it  is  proper,  to  pur- 
sue them. 


CHAP.   X. 


ETHICS. 


273 


CHAPTER  X. 


Nor  is  it  possible  that  the  same  person  can  at  one  and 
the  same  time  be  prudent  and  incontinent ;  for  it  has  been 
shown  by  us  that  a  prudent  man,  is  at  the  same  time  a 
man  of  worthy  manners.     Again,  a  man  is  not  only  pru- 
dent from  knowing  what  ought  to  be  done,  but  also  from 
acting  properly ;  but  the  incontinent  man  does  not  act 
properly.     Nothing,   however,  prevents  the  incontinent 
man  from  being  skilful.     Hence,  also,  sometimes  certain 
persons  appear  to  be  prudent,  but  incontinent,  because 
skilfulness  differs  from  prudence,  in  the  way  we  have 
before  explained ;  and  these,  so  far  as  pertains  to  reason, 
indeed,  are  near  to  each  other,  but  they  differ  according 
to  deliberate  choice.     Neither,  therefore,  does  the  incon- 
tinent man  [possess  reason]  as  one  who  knows  and  con- 
templates,  but  as  one  who  is  asleep,  or  intoxicated.    And 
he  acts,  indeed,  voluntarily ;  for  after  a  certain  manner 
he  acts  knowing  both  what  he  does,  and  for  the  sake  of 
what  he  acts  as  he  does.     But  he  is  not  depraved  ;  for 
his  deliberate  choice  is  good  ;  so  that  he  is  half  depraved, 
and  not   unjust,  because  he  is  not  insidious.     For  one 
incontinent  man,  indeed,  [i.  e.   the  man  who  is  inconti- 
nent  from  debility]  does  not  persist  in  what  he  has  deli- 
berated ;  and  he  who  is  of  a  melancholy  temperament. 


ArisL 


VOL.  II. 


R 


274 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  vn* 


[i.  e.  the  man  who  is  precipitately  incontinent,]  is  not,  in 
short,  disposed  to  deliberate.  The  incontinent  man, 
therefore,  resembles  a  city,  which  decrees,  indeed,  every 
thing  that  is  proper,  and  has  good  laws,  but  uses  none 
of  them,  as  Anaxandrides  revilingly  said. 

The  state  consults,  but  Its  own  laws  neglects. 

But  the  bad  man  resembles  a  city,  which  uses  indeed 
laws,  but  uses  bad  laws.  Incontinence,  however,  and 
continence,  are  conversant  with  that  which  exceeds  the 
habit  of  the  multitude ;  for  the  continent  man  persists 
more,  but  the  incontinent  man  less,  than  the  multitude 
are  able  to  do,  [in  the  decisions  of  reason.]  The  incon- 
tinence, however,  of  the  melancholy,  is  more  easily  cured, 
than  the  incontinence  of  those  who  deliberate,  indeed,  but 
do  not  persist  in  doing  what  they  have  deliberated  to  do. 
Those,  also,  who  are  incontinent  from  custom,  may  be 
more  easily  cured  than  those  who  are  naturally  so  ;  for  it 
is  more  easy  to  change  custom  than  nature.  For  on  this 
very  account  it  is  difficult  to  change  custom,  viz.  because 
it  resembles  nature,  as  Evenus  also  says. 

By  long  attention  custom  is  produc'd. 
And  is  at  length  as  nature  to  mankind. 

We  have  shown,  therefore,  what  continence  and  inconti- 
nence, and  also  what  endurance  and  effeminacy  are,  and 
how  these  habits  subsist  with  reference  to  each  other. 


CHAK  xu 


fiTHICSk 


275 


CHAPTER  XI. 


The  discussion,  however,  of  pleasure  and  pain,  per- 
tains to  him  who  philosophizes  about  the  political  science ; 
for  he  is  the  architect  [as  it  were]  of  the  end,  looking  to 
which  we  say  that  one  thing  is  evil,  but  another  is  simply 
good.     Again,  it  is  likewise  necessary  that  we  should 
make  these  the  objects  of  consideration.     For  we  admit , 
that  ethical  virtue  and  vice  are  conversant  with  pleasures  | 
and  pains ;  and  most  men  assert  that  felicity  is  accom- 1 
panied  with  pleasure*     Hence,  also,  they  denominate  the  \ 
blessed  man,  {[xaxotptnv),  from  especially  rejoicing  (axo 
rou  fjLOLXitrra  ^(aipzivJ)     To  some,  therefore,  no  pleasure 
appears  to  be  good,  neither  essentially,  nor  from  acci- 
dent ;  for  good  and  pleasure  are  not  the  same  thing.  But 
to  others,  some  pleasures  appear  to  be  good,  but  many  of 
them  to  be  bad.     Others  again  in  the  third  place  assert, 
that  though  all  pleasures  were  good,  yet  at  the  same  time 
that  which  is  most  excellent  cannot  be  pleasure.  In  short, 
therefore,  they  say,  pleasure  is  not  good,  because  all  plea- 
sure is  a  generation  tending  to  a  sensible  nature  [as  to  its 
■end;]  but  no  generation  is  allied  to  ends;  as  no  act  of 
building  a  house,  [i.  e.  the  energy  of  building,  Gixo8ojOL7j<r*^,] 
is  allied  to  the  house.     Again,  the  temperate  man  avoids  \ 
pleasures.    Farther  still,  the  prudent  man  pursues  a  free-  \ 


'-  iJ76 


THE  NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  vn. 


CHAP.  xn. 


ETHICS. 


277 


dom  from  pain,  and  not  the  delectable.  To  which  may 
be  added,  that  pleasures  are  an  impediment  to  the  energy 
of  prudence,  and  this  in  proportion  to  the  delight  which 
'they  afford ;  as  is  the  case  with  venereal  pleasure ;  for 
no  one,  when  engaged  in  this  pleasure,  can  intellectually 
perceive  any  thing.  Again,  pleasure  is  not  the  offspring 
of  art ;  though  every  thing  which  is  good,  is  the  work  of 
art.  Farther  stilly  children  and  brutes  pursue  pleasures. 
But  that  all  pleasures  are  not  worthy  is  indicated  by  this, 
that  some  are  base,  and  disgraceful,  and  pernicious ;  for 
some  pleasures  produce  disease.  It  is  also  evident  that 
pleasure  is  not  the  best  of  things,  because  it  is  not  an  end, 
but  generation.  Such,  therefore,  nearly  are  the  asser- 
tions respecting  pleasure. 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

That  it  does  not  happen,  however,  from  these  argu- 
ments that  pleasure  is  neither  good,  nor  the  best  of  things, 
is  evident  from  the  following  considerations: — In  the 
first  place,  indeed,  because  good  is  predicated  in  a  two- 
fold respect ;  for  one  kind  of  good  is  simply  and  abso- 
lutely  good,  but  another  is  good  to  a  certain  person. 
And  natures  and  habits  receive  the  same  division  ;  so  that 
this  Avill  also  h^  the  case  with  moticms  and  generations. 
With  respect  to  those  pleasures  likewise  which  appear  to 


^ 


be  bad,  some  indeed  are  simply  bad,  but  are  not 
bad  to  a  certain  person,  but  to  him  are  eligible ;. 
and  some  are  not  pleasures  to  this  person,  except 
once  and  for  a  short  time,  but  they  are  not  eligible 
to  him.  And  some  are  not  pleasures,  but  only  appear 
to  be  so,  viz.  those  which  are  attended  with  pain,  and  are 
for  the  sake  of  a  remedy,  such  as  those  of  the  sick. 
Again,  since  of  good  one  kind  is  energy,  but  another  is 
habit,  those  pleasures  which  restore  their  possessor  to  his 
natural  habit  are  delectable.  In  desires,  however,  there 
13  the  energy  of  an  indigent  and  imperfect  habit  and 
nature.  There  are  also  pleasures  which  are  unaccompa- 
nied with  pain  and  desire,  such  as  the  energies  of  con- 
templation, nature  in  these  not  being  indigent.  [But  that 
some  pleasures  are  delectable  of  themselves,  and  others 
only  on  account  of  the  indigence  which  they  remove  ;] 
IS  indicated  by  this,  that  men  are  not  pleased  with  the 
same  delectable  thing  when  the  indigence  of  nature  is  re- 
moved, and  when  it  is  not.  For,  in  the  former  case,  they 
are  delighted  with  things  simply  and  absolutely  pleasant  y 
but  in  the  latter,  with  their  contraries.  For  they  are  then 
delighted  with  things  sharp  and  bitter,  none  of  which  are 
either  naturally,  or  absolutely  delectable ;  so  that  neither  are 
they  pleasures.  For  as  things  delectable  are  to  each  other, 
so  likewise  are  the  pleasures  produced  by  these.  Farther 
still,  it  is  not  necessary  that  something  else  should  be 
better  than  pleasure,  as  some  say  the  end  of  genera- 
tion is  better  than  generation ;  for  pleasures  are  not  gene- 
rations, nor  are  all  of  them  accompanied  with  generation, 
but  they  are  energies,  and  an  end.  Nor  do  pleasures 
happen  when  things  are  passing  into  existence,  but  from 
the  use  of  things.  Nor  is  the  end  of  all  pleasures  some- 
thing different  from  them,  but  of  those  only  which  lead 


278 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VII. 


CHAP.  XIII. 


ETHICS. 


279 


to  the  perfection  of  nature.  Hence,  it  is  not  well  said, 
that  pleasure  is  a  sensible  generation  ;  but  it  must  rather 
be  said  that  it  is  the  energy  of  habit  according  to  nature  ; 
and  instead  of  saying  that  it  is  a  sensible,  it  must  be  said 
that  it  is  an  unimpeded  generation.  It  appears,  however, 
to  be  a  certain  generation,  because  it  is  properly  good ; 
for  they  fancied  that  energy  is  generation ;  but  it  is  dif- 
ferent from  it.  To  say,  also,  that  pleasures  are  bad, 
because  some  delectable  things  produce  diseases,  is  what 
may  likewise  be  said  of  things  salubrious ;  for  some  of 
these  are  bad  as  to  pecuniary  affairs.  In  this  respect, 
therefore,  both  will  be  bad,  and  yet  they  are  not  on  this 
account  bad.  For  contemplation  is  likewise  sometimes 
injurious  to  health ;  yet  the  pleasure  proceeding  from 
each  habit,  is  neither  an  impediment  to  prudence,  nor  to 
any  habit ;  but  the  pleasures  which  are  an  impediment  to 
these  are  such  as  are  foreign  ;  since  the  pleasures  arising 
from  contemplation  and  discipline,  produce  in  a  greater 
degree  contemplation  and  learning.  But  it  reasonably 
happens  that  no  pleasure  is  the  work  of  art ;  since  nei^ : 
ther  is  there  an  art  of  any  other  energy  but  of  power  ; 
though  the  arts  pertaining  to  unguents  and  cooking  appear 
to  be  the  arts  of  pleasure.  With  respect  to  the  assertions, 
also,  that  the  temperate  man  avoids  pleasures,  and  that 
the  prudent  man  pursues  a  life  unattended  with  pain,  and 
that  children  and  brutes  pursue  pleasure — all  these  are 
solved  after  the  same  manner.  For  since  we  have  showa 
how  all  pleasures  are,  in  a  certain  respect,  simply  good, 
and  how  they  are  not  good,  hence,  children  and  brutes 
pursue  such  pleasures  as  are  accompanied  with  desire  and 
pain,  and  are  corporeal,  and  the  prudent  man  pursues  a 
.  freedom  of  pain  from  these  5  for  of  such  a  kind  are  these 
pleasures  5  [viz.  they  are  accompanied  with  pain.]  Child- 


ren and  brutes  also  pursue  the  excesses  of  these  accord- 
ing to  which  the  intemperate  man  becomes  intemperate. 
Hence,  the  temperate  man  avoids  these  ;  since  there  are 
also  pleasures  which  belong  to  the  temperate  man. 


?,..»• 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


.  It  is  also  admitted,  that  pain  is  an  evil  and  is  to  be 
avoided  ;  for  one  kind  of  pain,  indeed,  is  simply  evil,  but 
another  in  a  certain  respect,  because  it  is  an  impediment. 
That,  however,  which  is  contrary  to  what  is  to  be  avoided, 
so  far  as  it  is  something  to  be  avoided  and  is  evil,  is  good. 
Pleasure,  therefore,  is  necessarily  something  good.  For 
the  solution  of  Speusippus  is  not  appropriate,  viz.  that 
pleasure  is  contrary  to  pain,  just  as  the  greater  is  contrary 
to  the  less  and  the  equal ;  since  no  one  will  say  that  plea- 
sure is  a  certain  evil.'  But  nothing  prevents  a  certain 
pleasure  from  being  the  best  of  things,  if  certain  pleasures 
are  bad,  just  as  a  certain  science,  [viz.  wisdom,]  is  the 
best  of  sciences,  though  some  sciences  are  bad.  Perhaps 
too,  it  must  necessarily  be  the  case,  that  if  of  every  habit 

>  If  pleasure  is  opposed  to  pain,  as  the  greater  is  to  the  less  and 
the  equal,  then  it  will  be  opposed  as  excess  to  defect ;  and  pleasure 
will  be  of  Itself  an  evil. 


H 


280 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VII, 


« 

there  are  unimpeded  energies,  whether  felicity  is  the  ener- 
gy of  all  the  habits,  or  of  some  one  of  them,  this  energy,  if 
it  is  unimpeded,  is  most  eligible.  But  this  is  pleasure ;  so 
that  a  certain  pleasure  will  be  the  best  of  things,  many 
pleasures,  if  it  should  so  happen,  being  simply  bad.  And 
on  this  account  all  men  are  of  opinion  that  a  happy  is  a 
delectable  life,  and  they  reasonably  connect  pleasure  with 
felicity.  For  no  energy  is  perfect  when  it  is  impeded  ; 
but  felicity  is  among  the  number  of  perfect  energies. 
Hence,  the  happy  man  requires  the  goods  pertaining  to 
the  body,  and  external  possessions,  and  also  good  for- 
tune, lest  [the  want  of])  these  should  be  an  impediment 
[to  his  felicity.]  Those,  however,  who  say,  that  a  man, 
if  he  is  a  good  man,  may  be  happy,  though  he  should  be 
tormented  in  a  wheel,  and  fall  into  the  greatest  calamities, 
say  nothing  to  the  purpose,'  whether  they  assert  this  will- 
ingly or  unwillingly.  Because,  however,  the  happy  man 
requires  good  fortune,  prosperity  appears  to  some  persons 
to  be  the  same  with  felicity,  though  it  is  not  the  same ; 
since  prosperity,  when  it  is  excessive,  is  an  impediment 
to  felicity.  Perhaps,  likewise,  it  is  no  longer  just  to  call 
prosperity  [when  it  is  excessive]  good  fortune ;  for  the 
definition  of  prosperity  has  a  reference  to  felicity.  That 
all  brutes  too,  and  all  men,  pursue  pleasure,  is  an  indica- 
tion that  pleasure  is  in  a  certain  respect  the  best  of 
things. 

That  fame  which  crowds  of  human  kind  extol. 
Will  ne'er  completely  perish. 

'  The  distinction  mentioned  in  a  former  note  must  here  be  care- 
fully remembered,  viz.  that  the  felicity  of  the  worthy  man,  in  the 
most  calamitous  circumstances,  will  not  be  * es^tntially  destroyed, 
but  will  be  as  it  were  in  a  dormant  state. 


CHAP.  XIII. 


THICS. 


281 


Because,  however,  neither  the  same  nature,  nor  the  same 
habit,  either  is,  or  appears  to  be  the  best,  neither  do  all 
men  pursue  the  same  pleasure,  though  pleasure  is  pursued 
by  all  men.  Perhaps,  also,  they  pursue  not  the  pleasure 
which  they  fancy,  nor  that  which  they  say  they  pursue, 
but  the  same  pleasure ;  for  all  things  naturally  possess 
something  divine.^  Corporeal  pleasures,  however,  obtain 
the  inheritance  of  the  name,  because  men  are  for  the 
most  part  occupied  in  them,  and  all  animals  partake  of 
them.  Because,  therefore,  these  pleasures  alone  are 
[generally]  known,  these  are  the  only  pleasures  which 
are  fancied  to  have  an  existence.  It  is,  however,  evident, 
that  unless  pleasure  is  good,  and  also  energy,  it  will  not 
be  possible  for  the  happy  man  to  live  delectably.  For  on 
what  account  would  delight  be  requisite  to  a  happy  life, 


'  This  is  most  Platonically  said  by  Aristotle,  that  all  men  pursue 
the  same  pleasure,  by  which  he  means  the  pleasure  which  is  good  ; 
because  all  things  naturally  possess  so^nething  divine.  For  in  conse- 
quence of  every  thing  possessing  this  symbol,  or  impression  of  divi- 
nity in  its  essence,  there  is  in  every  thing  an  innate  desire  of  the 
first  principle,  as  the  end  of  all  things  ;  and  hence,  prior  to  appetite, 
there  is  a  certain  occult  perception  of  that  which  is  first.  Hence, 
too,  in  consequence  of  this  natural  sense  or  perception,  which  is 
entirely  concealed  from  the  other  senses,  things  heavy  and  light 
choose  in  a  rectilinear  direction  a  place  adapted  to  their  natures,  and 
reject  the  contrary.  Hence,  the  roots  of  trees  pursue  moisture,  and 
avoid  dryness ;  and  leaves  sagaciously  turn  from  the  shade,  and 
joyfully  associate  to  themselves  the  light  of  the  sun,  in  conjunction 
with  his  invigorating  warmth.  Through  this  wonderful  sense  and 
appetite,  therefore,  all  things  are  converted  to  the  first  witliout 
knowing  the  first ;  and  as  the  great  Theodorus,  the  Platonist,  says, 
**  All  things  pray  except  the  firsts  In  a  similar  manner,  also,  the 
soul,  prior  to  manifest  knowledge  and  the  election  of  the  will,  from 
a  natural  sense  and  inclination  impressed  in  her  essence  through  the 
one-i  desires  the  one  itself 


282 


THE    NICOMAGHEAN 


BOOK  pii 


CHAP.  XIV. 


1f^^\.%  ETHICS, 


283 


if  it  is  not  good  ?  But  it  would  also  be  possible  for  life 
to  be  happy,  though  attended  with  pain ;  for  pain  will 
neither  be  evil  nor  good,  if  pleasure  is  not  good.  Why, 
therefore,  is  pain  to  be  avoided?  Neither,  therefore. 
Will  the  life  of  the  worthy  man  be  more  delectable,  un* 
less  his  energies  are  more  delectable. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


With  respect,  however,  to  corporeal  pleasures,  we 
must  direct  our  attention  to  the  assertions  of  those  who 
say,  that  some  pleasures  are  very  eligible,  viz.  such  as 
are  worthy ;  but  not  corporeal  pleasures,  with  which  the 
intemperate  man  is  conversant.    Why,  therefore,  are  the 
pains  contrary  to    these  pleasures  depraved  ?  For  good 
is   contrary  to  evil.     Or  shall  we  say,  that  necessary 
pleasures  are  so  far  good,  because  that  which  is  not  evil 
is  good,  or  that  they  are  good  to  a  certain  extent  ?  For 
in  those  habits  and  motions,  in  which  there  is  no  excess 
of  that  which  is  better,   there  is  no  excess  of  pleasure  j 
but  in  those  in  which  there  is  an  excess  of  what  is  better, 
there  is  also  an  excess  of  pleasure.     But  of  corporeal 
goods  there  is  an  excess ;  and  the  bad  man  becomes  bad 
by  pursuing  the  excess  of  pleasure,  and  not  necessary 


pleasures.  For  all  depraved  men  are  delighted  with 
meats  and  wine,  and  venery,  but  not  in  such  a  manner 
as  is  proper.  And  they  are  affected  in  a  contrary  way 
with  respect  to  pain;  for  they  do  not  avoid  the  excess  o£/ 
pain,  but  pain  altogether.  For  pain  is  not  contrary  toV 
excess,  but  to  him  who  pursues  excess.  Since,  however,  i 
it  is  not  only  necessary  to  speak  the  truth,  but  also  to 
assign  the  cause  of  a  false  assertion  ;  for  this  contributes 
to  credibility ;  since  when  the  cause  why  a  thing  seems 
to  be  true,  though  it  is  not,  appears  to  be  reasonable,  it 
then  gives  greater  credibility  to  the  truth ; — this  being 
the  case,  it  must  be  shown  why  corporeal  pleasures  appear 
to  be  more  eligible.  In  the  first  place,  therefore,  they 
appear  to  be  so,  because  they  expel  pain,  and  because 
excessive,  and  in  short,  corporeal  pleasure  is  pursued  on 
account  of  the  excesses  of  pain,  as  a  remedy.  But  the 
remedies  are  vehement,  and  on  this  account  corporeal 
pleasures  are  pursued,  because  they  become  more  appa- 
rent when  placed  by  that  whiqh  is  contrary  to  them. 
Pleasure,  therefore,  does  not  appear  to  be  good,  for  these 
two  reasons,  as  we  have  before  observed  ;  because  some 
pleasures,  indeed,  are  the  actions  of  a  depraved  nature, 
either  from  the  birth  of  the  animal,  as  those  of  a  brute, 
or  they  originate  from  custom,  such  as  those  of  bad 
men  ;  but  other  pleasures  are  remedies,  because  they  are  ' 
the  pleasures  of  that  which  is  in  want,  and  it  is  better 
to  have  them,  than  for  them  to  be  passing  into  existence; 
and  others  happen  to  be  the  pleasures  of  that  which  is 
in  a  perfect  condition, '     From  accident,  therefore,  they 

'  i.  e.  When  <lesire  is  satisfied,  as  Aspasius  explains  the  word 
TiMiovuivm  ;  or  Recording  to  the  interpretation  of  Thomas  Aquinas, 
«  when  those  who  desire  are  perfected,  and  restored  to  an  entire 
eendition  of  nature." 


284 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  vm 


are  worthy  pleasures.     Again,  pleasures  that  are  vehe- 
ment, are  pursued  by  those  who  are  incapable  of  being, 
delighted  with  other  pleasures.     These,  therefore,  pro- 
cure for  themselves  certain  thirsts.     Hence,  when  plea- 
.;  sures  are  innoxious,  they  are  not  to  be  reprehended ;  but 
when  they  are  noxious,  they  are  bad.     For  those  that 
pur^e  these  pleasures  have  no  other  with  which  they 
are  delighted;  and  if  neither  these,  nor  any  others  are 
present,  the  vulgar  are  in  pain,   through  [the  indigence 
of]  nature.     For  the  animal  always  labours,  as  physical 
arguments  testify,   since,  as  physiologists  say,  to  see  and 
to  hear  are  painful,  but  we  are  now  accustomed  to  these 
[energies,  and  therefore  do  not  perceive  the  pain].     In 
a  similar  manner  in  youth,  in  consequence  of  the  augmen- 
tation which  then  takes  place,  we  are  affected  like  those 
who  are  intoxicated,  and  youth  is  a  delectable  [period  of 
human  life].     But  the  melancholic  naturally  always  re- 
quire a  remedy  ;  for  their  body  experiences  a  continual 
molestation  from  its  temperament,  [through  the  acrimony 
of  the  bile ;]  and  they  are  always  agitated  with  vehement 

I  appetite.  Pleasure,  however,  always  expels  pain,  as  well 
the  pain  which  is  contrary  to  pleasure,  as  that  which  is 
casual,  if  the  pleasure  is  strong  ;  and  on  this  account  the 
TOelanchoHc  become  intemperate  and  depraved.  But  the 
pleasures  which  are  without  pain  have  no  excess ;  and 
these  are  such  as  are  derived  from  things  naturally  de- 
lectable, and  which  are  not  accidentally  so.  I  mean, 
however,  by  things  delectable  from  accident,  remedies  ; 
for  because  it  happens  that  we  are  cured  of  a  malady, 
the  part  which  is  sane  performing  something,  on  this 
account,  the  remedies  appear  to  be  delectable.  But  by 
things  naturally  delectable,  I  mean,  those  which  produce 
the  action  of  such  a  nature,  [i.  e.  which  produce  an 


^^hAp. 


XIV. 


ETHICS. 


285 


energy  essentially  adapted  to  such  a  nature].  Nothing, 
however,  which  remains  the  same,  is  always  delectable, 
because  our  nature  is  not  simple,  but  there  is  also  some- 
thing in  it  different^  according  to  which  it  is  corruptible. ' 

'  Aristotle,  in  asserting  that  our  nature  contains  something  which 
is  different,  and  through  which  it  is  corruptible,  evidently  alludes 
to,  and  accords  with  the  doctrine  of  his  divine  master  Plato,  in  the 
TimsEUs,  respecting  the  composition   of  the  soul.     For  he  there 
composes  it  from  essence,  sameness,  and  difference.     To  understand 
which,  it  is  necessary  to  observe,  that  there  are  five  genera  of  being, 
from  which  aU  things,  after  the  first  being,  are  composed  ;  viz. 
essence,  permanency,  motion,  sameness,  and  difference.     For  every 
thing  must  possess  essence ;  must  abide  in  its  cause,  from  which, 
also,  it  must  proceed,  and  to  which  it  must  be  converted;  must  be 
the  same  with  itself  and  certain  other  natures,  and  at  the  same  time 
different  from  others,  and  distinguished  in  itself.     Plato,  however, 
for  the  sake  of  brevity,  assumes  only  three  of  these  in  the  composi- 
tion of  the  soul,  viz.  essence,  sameness,  and  difference;  for  the  other 
two  must  necessarily  subsist  in  conjunction  with  these.     As  same- 
ness, therefore,  predominates  in  intelligible  and  impartible  essences, 
but  difference  in  things  sensible  and  partible,  hence  the  soul,  by  its 
alliance  to  a  sensible  nature,  contains  in  itself  something  which  is 
different,  and  through  which,  in  its  irrational  part,  it  is  subject  to 
the  fatality  of  death.    For,  again,  Plato  in  the  same  dialogue  asserts 
that  die  soul  is  a  medium  between  an  essence  indivisible,  and  always 
subsisting  according  to  sameness  of  being,  and  a  nature  divisible 
about  bodies ;  viz.  it  is  a  medium  between  intellect,  and  the  whole 

of  a  corporeal  life. 

When  Aristotle  also  says,  that  nothing  which  remains  the  same 
is  always  delectable  to  us,  because  our  nature  is  not  simple,  we 
may  hence  infer,  that  it  is  impossible  for  the  human  soul  always 
to  remain  in  one  condition  of  being,  though  that  condition  should 
be  attended  with  the  highest  felicity  of  which  it  is  capable.  Hence, 
as  the  rational  soul  is  immortal,  it  must  necessarily  circulate.  For 
when  in  a  state  of  the  most  exalted  felicity,  becoming  at  length 
weary  of  its  blessedness,  it  gradually  falls  into  a  subordinate  con- 
dition of  being,  and  from  this  fallen  condition,  again  gradually  rises 
to  the  acme  of  its  felicity. 


2S6 


THE    NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS.  BOOK   Vltt^ 


Hence,  if  the  one  part  does  any  things  this  to  the  other 
nature  is  preternatural*     But  when   both  the  parts  are 
equalized,  that  which  is  performed,  neither  appears  to 
be  painful  nor  pleasing.     For  if  there  is  any  being,  the 
toture  of  which  is  simple,  to  this  being  the  same  action 
will  always  be  most  delectable.     Hence,  God  always  re- 
joices according  to  one  simple  pleasure  ;  for  there  is  not 
only  an  energy  of  [corporeal]  motion,  but  also  of  immo- 
bility ;  and  pleasure  exists  more  abundantly  in  rest  than 
in  motion.     But  mutation  is  the  sweetest  of  all  things, 
according  to  the  poet,  through  a  certain  depravity.     For 
as  a  depraved  man  is  mutable,  so  likewise  is  the  nature 
which  requires  mutation;  for  it  is  neither  simple,  nor 
good.    And  thus  we  have  spoken  concerning  continence 
and  incontinence,  pleasure  and  pain,  and  have  shown 
what  each  of  them  is,  and  how  some  of  them  are  good, 
but  others  bad.     It  now  remains  that  we  speak  concern- 
ing friendship. 


fr 


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K 


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THE 


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NICOMACHEAN    ETHICS. 


BOOK  VIIU 


5flr*.^- 


C»>^ 


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ft 


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T 


CHAPTER  I. 


After  these  things,  it  follows  that  we  should  discuss 

friendship ;  for  it  is  a  certain  virtue,  or  subsists  in  con- 

\  junction  with  virtue.     And  besides  this,  it  is  most  neces- 

•  saiT  to  life ;  for  no  one  would  choose  to  live  without 

/  friends,  though  he  possessed  every  other  good.     For  the 

I  rich,  princes,  and  magistrates,  appear  to  be  especially  in 

want  of  friends.      For   what  advantage  is   there   in  a^^ 

prosperity  of  this   kind,   if  beneficence  is  taken  away, 

which  is  especially  exerted  towlros  friends,  and  is  most 

praised  when  thus  exerted  ?  Or  how  can  prosperity  be 

preserved  and  saved,  without  friends?  For  by  how  much 


**•  i 


288 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOO^  VIII. 


^  the  greater,  by  so  much  the  more  insecure  it  is.     But 

in  poverty  and  other  misfortunes,  friends  are  considered 

[to  be  the  only  refuge.     Friendship,  also,   is  useful  to 

\70uth,  in  preventing  them  from  error,  and  to  elderly 

knen,  by  the  attention  which  it  pays  to  their  wants,  and 

I  the  assistance  it  affords  to  their   deficiency   in  action, 

/arising  from  the  imbecility  of  age.     To  those  likewise 

in  the  acme  of  life  it  is  useful,  because  it  aids  them  in 

the  performance  of  beautiful  actions. 

When  two  in  concord  meet. ' 

For  they  are  more  able  through  it  both  to  conceive  and 
act.     Friendship,  also,  appears  to  be  naturally  inherent 
in  that  which  begets  towards  that  which  is  begotten ;  and 
this  not  only  in  the  human  race,  but  likewise  in  birds,  in 
most  animals,  in  those  of  the  same  nation  towards  each 
other,  and  especially  among  men  ;  and  hence,  we  praise 
those  that  are  philanthropic.     It  may  also  be  seen,  in 
travelling,  how  accommodating  and  friendly  every  man 
|is  to  man.     It  seems,  too,  that  friendship  connects   cities 
Itogether ;  and  legislators  pay  more  attention  to  it  than 
j  to  justice.     For  concord  appears  to  be  something  similar 
Ito  friendship ;  but  this  legislators  are  especially  desirous 
of  effecting,  and  they  principally  £xpel  sedition,  which 
^is  hostile  to  concord.     And  when  the  citizens,  indeed, 
are  friends,  there  is  no  need  of  justice ;  but  though  they 
are  just,  they  require  friendship.     Among  just  things, 
also,  that  which  is  especially  just,  appears  to  be  of  a 
friendly  nature.     Nor  is  friendship  alone  necessary,  but 
It  is  also  a  beautiful  thing.     For  we  praise  those  who  are 

'  A  hemistic  of  Homer,  Iliad,  10.  v.  224,  and  so  known  as  to 
become  proverbial. 


CHAP.  I, 


ETHICS. 


289 


lovers  of  friends ;  and  an  abundance  of  friends,  appears  / 
to  be  one  among  the  number  of  beautiful  things.    Again,  ' 
some  are  of  opinion  that  the  same  persons  are  good  men 
and  friends.     There  is,  however,  no  small  controversy 
concerning  friendship.     For  some  consider  it  to  be  a 
certain  similitude,  and  that  similar  persons  are  friends- 
whence,  also,  it  is  said  «  like  tends  to  like,  a  jackdaw  to 
a  jackdaw,"  &c.     Others  on  the  contrary  say,  that  all 
such  persons  are  potters  to  each  other. '  '  And  they  in- 
vestigate  concerning  these  things  from  a  higher  and  more 
physical  origin  ;  Euripides,  indeed,  saying. 

Earth,  when  slie's  dry,  rejoices  in  the  rain ; 
And  venerable  heav'n,  with  rain  when  fill'd, 
On  earth  delights  to  fall.— , 

And  Heraclitus  asserting  *^that  what  is  adverse  is  advan- 
tageous  ;  that  the  most  beautiful  harmony  results  from 
things  of  a  different  nature ;  and  that  all  things  originate  i 
IVom  strife."     Others,  however,   are  of  a  contrary  opi-  / 
nion  respecting  friendship,  and  among  these  is  Empe- 
docles.     For  he  says,   «  that  the  similar  aspires  after  the 
similar."     Such  of  these  doubts,  therefore,  as  are  of  a 
physical  nature  we  shall  omit ;  for  they  are  not  adapted 
to  the  present  speculation.    But  we  shall  direct  our  atten- 
tion to  such  of  them  as  pertain  to  human  affairs,  and  to 
the  manners  and  passions  of  men ;  such  as,  whether  there 

'  Alluding  to  the  following  verse  of  Hesiod,  which  gave  rise  to 
the  above-mentioned  proverb : 

i.  e.  "  The  potter  envies  the  potter,  and  the  carpenter  the 
penter."  > 

ArisL 


car« 


VOL.  II. 


S 


290 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK   VIII. 


is  friendship  among  ail  men,  or  it  is  not  possible  that  de- 
praved men  can  be  friends  ?  And  whether  there  is  one, 
or  many  species  of  friendship  ?  For  those  who  are  of 
opinion  that  there  is  but  one  species  of  it,  because  it 
receives  the  more  and  the  less,  do  not  found  their  opi- 
nion on  a  sufficient  argument.  For  things  specifically 
different  receive  the  more  and  the  less  :  but  of  these  we 
have  spoken  before- 


CHAPTER  II. 


These  things,  however,  will  perhaps  become  evident, 
when  that  which  is  the  object  of  friendly  love  is  known; 
for  it  seems  that  not  every  thing  is  beloved,  but  that  only 
which  is  the  object  of  love ;  but  this  is  either  what  is 
good,  or  what  is  delectable,  or  what  is  useful.     That, 
'however,  may  appear  to  be  useful  through  which  some 
good  or  pleasure  is  procured.    Hence,  the  good  and  the 
delectable  will  be  objects  of  love,  as  ends.     Whether, 
therefore,  do  men  love  that  which  is  [simply]  good,  or 
that  which  is  good  to  them  ?  For  these  sometimes  are 
discordant.     A  similar  inquiry,  also,  may  be  made  con- 
cerning the  delectable.     It  appears,  however,  that  every 
one  loves  that  which  is  good  to  himself ;  and  that  good 
is  that  which  is  simply  the  object  of  love,  but  that  what 


£MaaM!W;iriMfc.atwiw/jtef  JBf&^&hjLfraK'ssi&ii.iiM^^        feWfc.a 


CHAP.  II. 


ETHICS. 


291 


is  good  to  each  person,  is  the  object  of  love  to  each. 
Each  person,  however,  loves  not  that  which  is  really  good 
to  him,  but  that  which  appears  to  be  so.    But  this  makes 
no  difference ;  for  that  which  appears  to  be  good,  will 
be  the  object  of  love.     Since,  however,  there  are  three 
things  through  which  love  is  produced,  [viz.  the  good, 
the  delectable,  and  the  useful,]  in  the  love  of  things  in- 
animate there  is  not  said  to  be  friendship ;  for  there  is 
no  reciprocal  love,  nor  a  wish  that  any  good  may  befal 
.  them.     For  it  w^ould  be  perhaps  ridiculous  to  wish  that 
some  good  might  befal  wine ;  but  if  a  man  does,  he 
wishes  that  it  may  be  preserved,  in  order  that  he  may 
j  have  it.     But  it  is  said  to  be  requisite  to  wish  well  to  a 
f  friend  for  his  own  sake ;  and  those  who  entertain  this 
wish  for  their  friends,  are  said  to  be  benevolent,  though 
the  same  wish  should  not  be  made  by  them.     For  it  Is 
said  that  benevolence,  in  reciprocal  regard,  is  friendship ; 
to  which  perhaps  it  should  be  added,  if  the  benevolence 
is  not  latent.     For  many  persons  are  benevolent  to  those 
whom  they  never  saw,  in  consequence  of  believing  them 
to  be  worthy  or  useful  men.     And  those  whom  they 
never  saw  may  also  be  benevolent  to  them.    They  appear, 
therefore,  indeed,  to  be  benevolent  to  each  other ;  but 
how  can  it  be  said  that  they  are  friends,  when  they  are 
ignorant   of  the   manner   in  which  they  are   mutually 
affected  ?  Hence,  it  is  necessary,  in  order  to  their  being 
friends,  that  they  should  be  benevolent  to,  and  wish  well 
to  each  other,  on  account  of  one  of  the  things  we  have 
mentioned,  [viz.  on  account  of  the  good,  the  delectable, 
or  the  useful.] 


M 


\^ 


292 


THE  NICOMACHEAN 


BOOR  VIH. 


CHAP.  III. 


ETHICS. 


293 


CHAPTER  III. 

These,  however,  are  specifically  different  from  each 
other ;  and,  therefore,  the   loves  also,  and  the  friend- 
ships differ.     For  there  are  three  species  of  friendship, 
equal   in  number  to  the  objects  of  friendly  love  ;  since 
in  each  there  is  a  reciprocal  love  which  is  not  latent. 
But   those  who  love   each    other,  wish   well   to  each 
other,  so  far  as  they  love.    Those,  therefore,  who  love 
each  other  on  account  of  utility,  do  not  mutually  love  tor 
their  own  sake,  but  so  far  as  they  obtain  some  good 
from  each  other.     This  is  also  the  case  with  those  who 
love  on  account  of  pleasure.    For  they  do  not  love 
those  who  are  versatile,  because  they  possess  cert^n  qua- 
lities,  but  because  they  afford  them  pleasure.     And  those 
who  love  on  account  of  utility,  possess  this  friendly  love 
on  account  of  the  good  which  they  derive  from  it.  Those, 
likewise,  who  love  on  account  of  pleasure,  love  on  ac- 
count  of  that  which  is  delectable  to  them.  And  the  attach- 
\ment  of  these  is  not  personal,  but  is  produced  so  far  as 
Ithe  object  of  their  attachment  is  useful  or  delectable. 
These  friendships,  therefore,  are  accidental ;  for  the  ob- 
iect  of  their  attachment  is  not  beloved,  so  far  as  he  is 
such   a  person  as  he  is,  but  so  far  as  he  administers  to 
them  some  good,  or  some  pleasure.    Such  friendships. 


r\ 


therefore,  are  easily  dissolved,  the  objects  of  them  not 
remaining  in  a  similar  condition ;  for  if  they  are  no 
longer  delectable  or  useful,  they  cease  to  be  beloved. 
And  the  useful  is  not  permanent,  but  at  a  different  time 
becomes  different.  Hence,  that  through  which  they 
were  friends  being  dissolved,  their  friendship  also  is  dis- 
solved,  in  consequence  of  existing  for  the  sake  of  it.  A 
friendship,  however,  of  this  kind,  appears  especially  to 
subsist  among  elderly  men ;  for  those  who  have  arrived 
at  this  period  of  life,  do  not  pursue  the  delectable,  but 
the  useful ;  nor  is  the  delectable  pursued  by  such  young 
men  in  the  acme  of  life,  as  make  utility  the  object  of 
their  pursuit.  But  such  persons  do  not  very  much  live 
together ;  for  sometimes  they  are  not  pleasing  to  each 
other.  They  do  not,  therefore,  require  an  association 
of  this  kind,  unless  they  are  useful ;  for  they  are  delecta- 
ble to  each  other  so  far  as  they  hope  for  some  good. 
Among  these  friendships,  also,  [viz.  those  of  utility,] 
hospitable  friendship  is  ranked.  But  the  friendship  of 
young  men  appears  to  subsist  on  account  of  pleasure  ; 
for  they  live  according  to  passion,  and  especially  pursue 
that  which  is  delectable  to  them,  and  that  which  is  pre- 
sent. In  consequence  of  the  mutation  of  age,  however, 
other  things  become  delectable  ;  on  which  account  they 
rapidly  become  and  cease  to  be  friends.  For  their 
friendship  is  changed  together  with  that  which  is  delec- 
table. But  the  mutation  of  such  a  pleasure  is  rapid. 
Young  men  also  are  amorous ;  for  much  of  the  amatory 
propensity  subsists  according  to  passion,  and  on  account 
of  pleasure.  Hence  they  love,  and  rapidly  cease  to  love, 
frequently  changing  in  the  same  day.  They  wish,  how- 
ever, to  spend  the  day  with  each  other,  and  to  live  toge- 
ther J  for  thus  they  obtain  what  friendship  requires.  The 


294 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VIII. 


friendship,  however,  of  good  men,  and  of  those  who  are 
^j^imilar  in  virtue,  is  perfect ;  for  they  similarly  wish  well 
to  each  other,  so  far  as  they  are  good  ;  but  they  are  good 
of  themselves.  But  those  who  wish  well  to  their  friends 
for  their  sake,  are  especially  friends ;  for  they  are  thus 
aflFected  towards  them  on  their  own  account,  [i.  e.  per- 
sonally,] and  not  from  accident.  The  friendship,  there- 
>  fore,  of  these  remains  as  long  as  they  are  good  men  j  but 
Virtue  is  stable.  And  each  of  these  is  simply  good,  and 
igood  to  his  friend ;  for  good  men  are  simply  good,  and 
are  useful  to  each  other.  In  a  similar  manner,  also,  they 
are  delectable  to  each  other ;  for  good  mpn  are  simply 
and  mutually  delectable.  For  to  each  their  proper 
actions,  and  such-like  actions,  [viz.  such  as  are  similarly 
virtuous,]  are  attended  with  pleasure.  But  the  actions 
of  good  men  are  such  as  these,  or  resemble  them.  It 
reasonably  follows,  also,  that  such  a  friendship  is  stable ; 
for  all  such  things  subsist  in  it  connectedly  as  ought  to 
be  present  with  friends.  For  all  friendship  is  on  account 
of  good,  or  on  account  of  pleasure,  either  simply,  or  to 
him  who  loves,  and  this  according  to  a  certain  similitude. 
But  in  this  friendship  [i.  e.  in  the  friendship  founded  on 
virtue]  all  the  above-mentioned  particulars  are  essen- 
tially inherent ;  since  in  this  all  the  rest  are  similar,  and 
that  which  is  simply  good  is  also  simply  delectable. 
These  things,  however,  are  especially  lovely  ;  and  in 
these  the  most  excellent  love  and  friendship  principally 
i subsist.  But  it  is  likely  that  such  friendships  are  rare; 
for  persons  of  this  description  are  few.  Farther  still, 
virtuous  friendship  requires  time  and  custom ;  for  ac- 
cording to  the  proverb,  it  is  not  possible  for  men  to 
know  each  other  till  they  have  eaten  a  peck  of  salt  toge- 
/  ther.     Nor  is  it  proper  for  one  person   to  become  inti- 


GHAP.  IV. 


ETHICS. 


295 


mate  with,  or  a  friend  to  another,  till  he  appears  to  be  \ 
amiable  to  him,  and  worthy  of  belief.  But  those  who 
rapidly  perform  towards  each  other  the  offices  of  friend- 
ship, wish  indeed  to  be  friends,  but  are  not,  unless  they 
are  amiable,  and  know  that  they  are  so.  They  rapidly, 
therefore,  contract  the  wish  to  be  friends,  but  they  do 
not  contract  friendship.  Hence,  virtuous  friendship  is 
perfect  according  to  time,  [as  being  lasting,]  and  accord- 
ing to  other  things,  and  consists  from  all  these.  Each 
friend,  likewise,  is  in  this  friendship  similar  to  each, 
which  is  a  thing  necessary  to  friends. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


The  friendship,  however,  which  subsists  on  account 
of  the  delectable,  has  a  similitude  to  virtuous  friendship ; 
for  good  men  also  are  delectable  to  each  other.  This  is 
likewise  the  case  vrith  the  friendship  which  subsists  on 
account  of  utility  ;  for  good  men  are  also  such  [i.  e.  use- 
ful] to  each  other.  But  among  these  [viz.  those  who 
Wre  friends  through  the  delectable]  friendships  are  espe- 
icially  permanent,  when  an.  equality,  as  for  instance,  of 
pleasure  subsists  between  them.  And  not  only  so,  but 
likewise  from  the  same  thing,  as  is  the  case  with  men  of 
versatile  manners,  and  not  as  between  the  lover  and  the 


296 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VII I ^ 


beloved  person.  For  these  are  not  delighted  with  the 
same  things,  but  the  lover  is  delighted  with  [the  sight 
of]  the  beloved  person,  and  he  who  is  beloved  is  delighted 
with  the  attention  which  is  paid  him  by  the  lover.  When 
the  flower  of  age,  however,  is  no  more,  sometimes  the 
friendship  also  ends.  For  to  the  one  the  sight  of  his 
friend  is  no  longer  pleasing,  and  to  the  other  bland  zu 
tention  is  no  longer  paid.  Many  of  these,  however,  coq* 
tinue  permanent  in  their  friendship,  if  each  loves  the 
manners  of  each  from  custom,  in  consequence  of  pos- 
sessing similar  manners.  Those,  however,  who  do  not 
reciprocally  exchange  delight  in  amatory  affairs,  but  uti^ 
lity,  are  friends  in  a  less  degree,  and  their  friendship  is 
less  permanent.  But  the  friendship  of  those  who  are 
friends  on  account  of  utility,  is  dissolved  together  with 
advantage ;  for  they  were  not  friends  of  each  other,  but 
of  the  profitable.  On  account  of  pleasure,  therefore, 
and  on  accpunt  of  utility,  it  is  possible  for  bad  men  to  be 
friends  to  each  other,  and  also  for  worthy  with  bad  men, 
and  for  those  who  are  neither  good  nor  bad  with  each 
other,  and  with  the  good  or  the  bad ;  but  it  is  evident 
that  the  good  alone  can  be  friends  through  or  on  account 
of  themselves.  For  bad  men  are  not  delighted  with  each 
other,  unless  each  derives  some  advantage  from  the  other. 
And  the  friendship  of  good  men  alone  is  unattended  with 
calumny ;  for  it  is  not  easy  to  believe  any  thing  [bad^  of 
him,  who  has  been  tried  by  us  for  a  long  time.  Among 
these  also  there  is  mutual  credibility,  and  a  confidence 
that  the  one  will  not  injure  the  other,  and  such  other 
particulars  as  are  thought  worthy  to  be  ranked  in  true 
friendship.  In  other  friendships,  however,  there  is 
nothing  to  prevent  things  of  this  kind  from  taking  place. 
For  since  men  denominate  friends  those  who  arc  con- 


CHAP.  IV, 


ETHICS. 


297 


nected  together  on  account  of  utility,  in  ^the  same  man- 
ner as  cities  (for  to  cities  warlike  confederacies  appear 
to  take  place  for  the  sake  of  advantage) ;  and  since  those 
likewise  are  called  friends  who  like  boys  love  each  other 
on  account  of  pleasure,  perhaps,  indeed,  it  is  necessary 
that  we  also  should  call  such  persons  friends,  and  should 
admit  that  there  are  many  species  of  friendship.  And 
we  must  denominate,  indeed,  the  friendship  of  good  men 
so  far  as  they  are  good,  that  which  is  primarily  and  pro- 
perly so  called ;  but  we  must  admit  that  the  rest  are 
called  friendships  from  similitude.  For  they  are  friends 
€0  far  as  there  is  something  good  and  similar  among 
them;  since  the  delectable  is  something  good  to  the 
lovers  of  pleasure.  These  friendships,  however,  are  not 
very  much  conjoined,  nor  do  the  same  persons  become 
friends  on  account  of  the  useful  and  the  delectable ;  for 
things  which  are  from  accident  are  not  very  much  united. 
But  friendship  being  distributed  into  these  species,  bad 
jneir,  indeed,  will  be  friends  on  account  of  pleasure  or 
advantage,  through  which  they  are  similar ;  but  good 
men  will  be  friends  on  their  own  account ;  for  they  are 
friends  so  far  as  they  are  good.  These,  therefore,  are 
simply  friends ;  but  those  from  accident,  and  from  being 
assimilated  to  these. 


298 


THE  NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VIlIvv 


CHAPTER    V. 


As,  however,  in  the  virtues,  some  men  are  said  to  be 
good  according  to  habit,  but  others  according  to  energy, 
thus  also  it  is  in  friendship.     For  those  friends  who  live 
together  are  delighted   with,   and  impart  good  to  each 
other;  but  those  who  are  asleep,  or  are  separated  by 
places,  do  not  indeed  energize,  and  yet  they  are  so  dis- 
posed as  to  be  able  to  energizfe  in  such  a  way  as  friend- 
ship requires.     For  places   do  not    dissolve  friendship 
simply,  but  only  the  energy  of  it.     If,  however,  the  ab- 
sence is  long,  it  seems  to  produce  an  oblivion  of  friend- 
ship ;  whence  it  is  said,  that  tacituryiity  dissolves  many 
Jriciidships.     But  neither  elderly  nor  austere  men  appear 
jto  be  adapted  to  friendship ;  for  in  them  there  is  but 
little  of  pleasure.     No  one,  however,  can  constantly  as- 
sociate with  one  who  is  sorrowful,  or  with  one  who  is  not 
I  pleasant.      For  nature  appears  especially  to  avoid  the 
/painful,  and  to  aspire  after  the  pleasing.     But  those  who 
admit  the  company  of  each  other,  and  yet  do  not  live 
together,  rather  resemble  benevolent  persons  than  friends ; 
since  nothing  is  so  much  the  province  of  friends  as  living 
together.     For  those  who  are  in  want  aspire  after  advan- 
tage.    Those,  also,  who  are  blessed  constantly  associate 
with  each  other  ;  for  it  is  not  in  the  smallest  degree  fit 


CHAP.  V. 


ETHICS. 


299 


that  these  should  lead  a  solitary  life.  But  it  is  not  pos- 
sible for  men  to  live  together  whose  company  is  not  de- 
lightful, and  who  are  not  pleased  with  the  same  things, 
which  fellowship  appears  to  possess.  The  friendship, 
therefore,  of  good  men  is  eminently  friendship,  as  we 
have  frequently  observed.  For  that  which  is  simply 
good  or  delectable,  appears  to  be  lovely  and  eligible ; 
but  to  every  one  that  is  lovely  and  eligible  which  is  to 
him  a  thing  of  this  kind.  A  good  man,  however,  is 
lovely  and  eligible  to  a  good  man  through  both  these. 
Dilection,  however,  is  similar  to  passion,  but  friendship 
to  habit ;  for  dilection  is  no  less  exerted  towards  inani- 
mate things.  But  reciprocal  love  exists  in  conjunction 
with  deliberate  choice ;  and  deliberate  choice  is  from 
habit.  We,  likewise,  wish  well  to  those  whom  we  love 
for  their  own  sake,  not  according  to  passion,  but  accord- 
ing to  habit.  And  those  who  love  a  friend,  love  that 
which  is  good  to  themselves ;  for  a  good  man  becoming 
a  friend,  becomes  a  good  to  him  to  whom  he  is  a  friend. 
Each,  therefore,  loves  that  which  is  good  to  himself,  and 
they  mutually  impart  to  each  other  that  which  is  equal, 
both  in  wishing  well  and  affording  delight ;  for  equality 
is  said  to  be  friendship.  But  these  things  are  especially 
present  with  the  friendship  of  good  men. 


300 


TH£   NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  Vlll. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


Friendship,  however,  subsists  in  a  less  degree  among 
{lustere  and  elderly  men,  in  proportion  as  they  are  more 
morose,  and  less  delighted  with  associations ;  for  these 
appear  to  be  especially  friendly,  and  effective  of  friend- 
ship.    Hence,  young  men   rapidly  become  friends,  but 
not  elderly  men ;  for  they  do  not  become  friends  to  those 
with  whom  they  are  not  delighted.     In  a  similar   man- 
ner neither  do  the  austere  become  rapidly  friends.     But 
men  of  this  description  are  indeed  benevolent  to  each 
other;  for  they  wish  well,  and  afford  assistance  to  the 
wants  of  each  other.     They  are  not,  however,  very  much 
friends,   because  they  do  not  constantly  associate,  nor 
are  delighted  with  each  other ;  which  things  appear  to 
be  especially  of  a  friendly  nature.     But  it  is  not  possible 
to  be  a  friend  to  many,  according  to  perfect  friendship, 
as  neither  is  it  possible  to  love  many  at  one  and  the  same 
time ;  for  this  resembles  excess ;  and  a  thing  of  this  kind 
is  naturally  adapted  to  take  place  towards  one  person. 
Moreover,  it  is  not  easy  for  many  persons  to  please  the 
same  person  very  much  at  one  and  the  same  time,  nor 
perhaps  would  it  be  a  good  thing  if  it  were  easy.     Ex- 
perience and  custom,  likewise,  are  necessary  [to  a  per- 


i'iS!ft.'-,i-..^iii:^isf^st!LtiSiasii^iUi-ri»iif'-ttt!^si:  i8BS.!tw5j;aig<isa 


CHAP.  VI. 


ETHICS. 


301 


feet  friendship],  which  are  very  difEcult  things.     But  it 
is  possible  to  please  many  persons,  on  account  of  utility 
and   delight ;    for  there  are  many   of  this  description, 
[viz.  who  are  thus  to  be  pleased],  and  a  little  experience 
is  sufficient  for  this  purpose.     Of  these  two,  however, 
the  friendship  which  subsists  through  the  delectable  is 
more  similar,  [to  true  friendship,]  when  the  same  things 
are  effected  by  both  persons,  and  they  are  delighted  with 
each  other,  or  with  the  same  things ;  as  is  the  case  in  the 
friendships  of  young  men  ;  for  there  is  more  of  the  libe- 
ral in  these  friendships.     But  the  friendship  which  sub- 
sists  on  account  of  utility,  is  the  friendship  of  merchants, 
[and  of  those  who  are  occupied  in  sordid  and  illiberal 
pursuits].     And  those   who  are   blessed,  indeed,  [viz<t 
who  are  as  happy  as  the  condition  of  human  nature  will 
permit,]  are  not  in  want  of  any  thing  useful  or  delectable, 
[because  they  already  possess  every  thing  of  this  kind]. 
For  they  wish  to  live  with  certain  persons ;  and  they  en- 
dure what  is  painful  but  for  a  short  time  j  since  no  one 
could  endure  it  continually,  not  even  good  itself,  if  it 
were   attended  with   molestation.     Hence,  they  search 
for  friends  who  can  procure  them  delight.     It  is,  how- 
ever, perhaps  necessary  to  search  for  good  men  who  are 
such,  [i.  e.  who  are  delectable,]  and  who  are  also  such  to 
their  friends  ;  for  thus  those  things  will  be  present  with 
them,  which  ought  to  be  present  with  friends.     But  men 
in  authority  and  power,  appear  to  use  their  friends  by 
making  a  distinction  between  them  ;  for  some  are  useful, 
and  others  delectable  to  them.     The  same  things,  how- 
ever, are  not  very  much  effected  by  both   these.     For 
neither  do  they  search  for  those  who  are  delectable  in 
conjunction  with  virtue,  nor  for  those  who  are  useful  for 
worthy  purposes  j  but  aspiring  after  pleasure,  they  search 


302 


THE    NICOMACHiiAN 


BOOK  VIII. 


for  men  of  versatile  manners,  and  for  those  who  are 
skilful  in  accomplishing  what  they  are  ordered  to  do. 
But  these  qualifications  are  not  very  much  found  in  the 
same  person.  We  have,  however,  already  observed, 
that  the  worthy  man  is  at  the  same  time  pleasing  and 
useful.  But  such  a  one  will  not  be  the  friend  of  the  man 
who  surpasses  others  in  power  and  authority,  unless  he 
also  surpasses  others  in  virtue ;  but  if  he  does  not,  he 
who  surpasses  will  not  equalize  according  to  the  analogous. 
Men  of  this  description,  however,  are  rare.  The  above- 
mentioned  friendships,  therefore,  are  in  equality.  For 
either  the  same  things  are  effected  by  both,  and  they 
mutually  wish  the  same  things,  or  they  exchange  one 
thing  for  another,  as  for  instance,  pleasure  for  utility. 
But  that  these  are  friendships  in  a  less  degree,  and  that 
they  are  less  permanent,  has  been  already  observed  by  us. 
They  appear,  however,  through  a  similitude  and  dissimi- 
litude of  the  same  thing,  to  be  and  not  to  be  friendships. 
For  from  their  similitude  to  the  friendship  which  is  ac- 
cording to  virtue,  they  appear  to  be  friendships ;  since 
the  one  of  these  has  the  delectable,  but  the  other  the 
useful.  But  both  these  are  inherent  in  virtuous  friend- 
ship. They  differ,  however, -in  this,  that  virtuous  friend- 
ship is  free  from  calumny,  and  is  stable ;  but  these  are 
rapidly  changed,  and  they  also  differ  in  many  other 
things.  And  from  this  dissimilitude  to  the  friendship 
which  is  according  to  virtue,  they  do  not  appear  to  be 
friendships. 


CHAP.  VII. 


ETHICS. 


303 


CHAPTER  VII. 


There  is,  however,  another  species  of  friendship, 
which  subsists  according  to  transcendency ;  such  as  that 
between  a  father  and  his  son,  and  in  short  between  a 
more  elderly  and  a  younger  man,  between  a  husband  and 
his  wife,  and  between  every  governor  and  him  who  is 
governed.  But  these  friendships,  also,  differ  from  each 
other.  For  there  is  not  the  same  friendship  between  pa- 
rents and  children,  as  there  is  between  governors  and  the 
governed ;  nor  between  a  father  and  son,  as  between  a 
son  and  his  father ;  nor  between  a  husband  and  wife,  as 
between  a  wife  and  husband.  For  the  virtue  and  also 
the  work  of  each  of  these  are  different ;  and  the  things 
are  different  on  account  of  which  they  love.  Their 
loves,  therefore,  and  their  friendships  are  different. 
Hence,  neither  are  the  same  things  effected  by  each  to- 
wards each,  nor  is  it  fit  they  should  be  required.  But 
when  children,  indeed,  bestow  on  their  parents  those 
things  which  offspring  ought  to  bestow  on  those  by 
whom  they  were  begotten,  and  parents  bestow  on  their 
children  those  things  which  it  is  proper  to  bestow  on 
their  offspring,  then  the  friendship  between  such  as  these 
will  be  stable  and  worthy.  It  is,  however,  necessary  in 
all  the  friendships  which  subsist  according  to  transcen- 


204 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  Vllt* 


dency,  that  the  love  should  be  analogous  ;  as,  for  instance^ 
that  the  better  character  should  be  beloved  in  a  greater 
degree  than  he  loves,  and  that  this  should  also  be  the  case 
with  the  more  useful  character,  and  in  a  similar  manner 
with  each  of  the  rest.     For  when  love  exists  according  to 
desert,  then  in  a  certain  respect  equality  is  produced ;  which 
appears  to  be  the  peculiarity  of  friendship.     The  equal, 
however,  does  not  appear  to  subsist  similarly  in  just  things 
and  in  friendship.  For  in  just  things,  indeed,  the  equality 
which  is  according  to  desert,   ranks  in  the  first  place  j 
but  that  which  is  according  to  quantity  in  the  second 
place.     But  in  friendship,  the  equality  which  is  according 
to  quantity,   ranks   in  the  first  place,  and  that  which  is 
according  to  desert  in  the  second  place.     This,  however, 
becomes  evident  if  there  is  a  great  interval  of  virtue  ot' 
vice,  or  alSuence,  or  of  some  other  things  y  for  then  they  '' 
are  no  longer  friends,  nor  do  they  think  themselves  qua^ 
lified  to  be  so.     But  this  is  most  apparent  in  the  gods ; 
Jbr  their  most   abu7}danily    transcend  in  every  thing 
that  is  good.'     It  is  also  evident  in  kings ;  for  those  who 
are  much  inferior  to  them,  do  not  think  themselves  wor- 


'  A  good  man,  in  consequence  of  being  similar  to,  may  be  sard 
to  be  the  friend  of,  divinity  >  but  then  as  from  the  transcendency 
of  the  divine  nature,  there  is  no  reciprocation  of  similitude,  when  it 
Is  also  said  that  God  is  the  friend  of  good  men,  nothing  more  is  to 
be  understood  by  this  assertion,  tlian  that  divinity  is  participated  by 
him  through  proximity,  alliance  and  aptitude,  as  much  as  is  possi* 
ble  to  human  nature.  And  in  this  way,  the  following  beautiful 
passage  of  Diogenes  must  be  understoood : — «  All  things  are  the 
possessions  of  the  gods ;  good  men  are  the  friends  of  the  gods ; 
and  friends  have  all  things  in  common.  It  is  impossible,  therefore, 
that  a  man  beloved  by  the  gods  should  not  be  happy,  or  that  d 
wise  and  just  man  should  not  be  beloved  by  the  gods.' 


» 


CHAP.  VII. 


ETHICS. 


305 


thy  to  be  their  friends.  Nor  do  those  who  are  of  no 
worth  aspire  to  be  friends  of  the  best  or  the  wisest  of  men. 
In  such  as  these,  therefore,  there  is  no  accurate  definition, 
as  long  as  they  are  the  friends  of  some  one.  For  many 
things  being  taken  away,  the  friendship  may  yet  remain  ; 
but  if  they  are  separated  by  a  great  interval  from  each 
other,  as  is  the  case  with  man  and  divinity,  friendship  no 
longer  remains.  Whence,  also,  it  is  doubted,  whether 
friends  would  wish  for  their  friends  the  greatest  of  goods, 
such,  for  instance,  as  for  them  to  be  gods ;  for  in  this 
case  they  would  no  longer  be  friends  to  them.  Neither, 
therefore,  would  they  be  a  good  to  them ;  for  friends 
are  a  good  to  each  other.  Hence,  if  it  is  well  said,  that 
a  friend  wishes  well  to  his  friend  for  his  sake,  it  is  requi- 
site that  he  should  remain  such  as  he  is.  But  he  wishes 
The  greatest  good  may  befal  him,  still  remaining  a  man. 
And  perhaps  he  does  not  wish  that  every  good  may 
befal  him  ;  for  every  one  especially  wishes  to  obtain  good 
himself. 


Arist. 


VOL.  II. 


\ 


\ 


S06 


THE   KICOMACHBAN 


10OK  VIII. 


CHAP.  vin. 


ETHICS. 


S 


07 


:^.. 


CHAPTER   Vni. 


The  multitude,  however,  appear  from  ambition  to  be 
more  desirous  of  being  beloved  than  of  loving.    Hence, 
the  multitude  love  flatterers.     For  a  flatterer  is  a  friend 
who  b  surpassed  [by  him  whom  he  flatters,]  or  pretends 
to  be  so,  and  also  professes  to  love  in  a  greater  degree 
than  he  is  beloved.     But  to  be  beloved  appears  to  be 
proximate  to  the  being  honoured,  after  which  the  multi- 
tude  aspire.     It  seems,  however,  that  they  do  not  choose 
honour  on  its  own  account,  but  from  accident.     For  the 
multitude  are   delighted  when   they  are  honoured  by 
those  in  power,  through  the  hope  [of  the  benefits  they 
may  thence  derive ;]  for  they  fancy  they  shall  obtain 
from  them  that  of  which  they  are  in  want.     They   are 
delighted,  therefore,  with  honour,  as  an  indication  that 
they  shall  be  benefited.      But  those  who  aspire  after 
honour  from  worthy  and  intelligent  men,  desire  to  con- 
firm their  own   opinion   of  themselves.     They  rejoice, 
therefore,  that  they  are  worthy  persons,  believing  in  the 
judgment  of  those  who  say  that  they  are  worthy;  but 
they  are  delighted   to  be   beloved  per  se.     Hence,   it 
would  seem  that  this  is  a  better  thing  than  to  be  honour- 
ed.  and  that  friendship  is  a  thing  eligible  of  itself.  Friend- 
ship, however,  seems  to  consist  more  in  loving  than  m 


being  beloved  ;  of  which  this  is  an  indication,  that  mo« 
thers  rejoice  in  loving  [their  children].  For  some  mo- 
thers  give  their  children  to  be  privately  educated  by 
others,  and  love  them  knowing  them  to  be  their  own 
offspring,  but  are  not  anxious  to  be  beloved  in  return  if 
both  cannot  be  effected,  but  it  appears  to  them  to  be 
sufficient  if  they  see  their  children  doing  well.  And  they 
love  their  offspring,  though  the  offspring  are  unable  to 
pay  that  attention  to  their  mother  which  is  fit,  because 
they  are  ignorant  of  her.  Since,  therefore,  friendship 
consists  rather  in  loving  than  in  being  beloved,  and  we 
praise  those  who  are  lovers  of  friends,  to  love  appears  to 
be  the  vh-tue  of  friends.  Hence,  those  in  whom  this 
exists  according  to  desert,  are  stable  friends,  and  the 
friendship  of  such  as  these  is  stable.  But  thus,  also, 
those  who  are  unequal  may  especially  become  friends ; 
for  thus  they  will  be  equalized.  Equality,  however,  and 
•  similitude  are  friendship,  and  especially  the  sln^ilitude  of 
those  who  resemble  each  other  in  virtue ;  for  being  of 
themselves  stable,  they  are  also  stable  towards  each  other, 
and  neither  require  any  thing  depraved,  nor  are  subser- 
Tient  to  any  thing  of  this  kind,  but,  as  I  may  say,  they 
prohibit  what  is  base.  For  it  is  the  province  of  good 
men,  neither  to  err  themselves,  nor  permit  their  friends 
to  be  subservient  to  erroneous  conduct.  But  depraved 
men  have  no  stability ;  for  they  do  not  remain  similar 
to  themselves;  but  are  only  friends  for  a  short  time, 
being  delighted  with  the  depravity  of  each  other,  Use- 
ful, however,  and  pleasing  men,  remain  friends  for  a 
longer  time ;  for  they  continue  friends  as  long  as  they 
impart  to  each  other  pleasure  and  advantage.  But  the 
friendship  which  subsists  on  account  of  utility,  appears  to 
be  composed  from  contraries ;  such  as  the  frieadship  of 


308 


THE    NICOMACHEAK 


BOOK  Vlll. 


CHAP.  IX. 


ETHICS. 


309 


the  poor  with  the  rich  man,  and  of  the  unlearned  with 
the  learned  man.     For  he  who  is  in  want  of  any  thing, 
aspiring  to  the  possession  of  it,  recompenses  with  some- 
thing else  him  from  whom  he  obtains  what  he  wants. 
Hither,  also,  may  be  referred  the  lover  and  the  beloved, 
the  beautiful  and  the  deformed.     Hence,  lovers  some- 
times  appear  to  be  ridiculous  when  they  think  they  ought 
to  be  beloved  as  much  as  they  love.     If,  therefore,  they 
are  similarly  amiable,  perhaps  it  is  fit  they  should  thus 
think;  but  it  is  ridiculous  if  they  possess  nothing  of 
this  kind.     Perhaps,  also,  neither   does    one  contrary 
desire  another  essentially,  but  only  from  accident.     But 
the  appetite  is  directed  to  the  medium  ;  for  this  is  good. 
Thas,  for  instance,  it  is  good  to  a  dry  thing  not  to  be- 
come moist,  but  to  arrive  at  the  medium  [between  dry- 
ness and  moisture ;]   and  in  a  similar  manner  to  a  hot 
thing,  and  to  other  substances.     I'hese  things,  however, 
must   be  omitted;  for  they  are  more  foreign  than  is 
proper. 


♦-J 


CHAPTER    IX. 


It  seems,  however,  as  we  said  in  the  beginning,  that 
both  friendship  and  justice  are  conversant  with  and  exist 
in  the  same  things  ;  for  in  all  society  there  appears  to  be 
a  certain  justice  and  friendship.  Men,  therefore,  call 
their  fellow-sailors,  and  fellow-soldiers  friends,  and  in 
a  similar  manner  those  who  associate  with  them  in 
other  employments.  But  such  as  is  the  extent  of  their 
associations,  such  also  is  the  extent  of  their  friendship  ; 
for  such  likewise  is  the  extent  of  justice.  The  proverb, 
too,  rightly  says,  "  that  all  things  are  common  among 
friends  ;"  for  friendship  consists  in  communion.  Among 
brothers,  however,  and  associates,  all  things  are  com- 
mon; but  among  others  they  are  limited  to  certain 
bounds  ;  and  to  some  indeed  more  so,  but  to  others  less ; 
for  with  respect  to  friendship,  also,  some  are  friendships 
in  a  greater  and  others  in  a  less  degree.  Just  things, 
also,  differ ;  for  there  is  not  the  same  justice  between 
parents  and  children,  as  between  brothers  towards  each 
other,  nor  as  between  associates  and  fellow-citizens.  And 
the  like  takes  place  in  other  friendships.  Injuries,  there- 
fore, are  different  towards  each  of  these,  and  they  re- 
ceive an  increase,  by  how  much  the  more  the  persons 
.  injured  are  friends.     Thus,  for  instance,  it  is  a  more  dire 


\ 


310 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VI II. 


CHAP.  X. 


ETHICS. 


311 


thing  to  defraud  an  associate  of  money  than  a  fellow-- 
citizen ;  and  not  to  assist  a  brother  than  to  refuse  assist- 
ance to  a  stranger  ;  and  to  strike  a  father,  than  to  strike 
any  other  person.  But  the  just  is  naturally  adapted  to  be 
increased  at  one  and  the  same  time  with  friendship,  as 
subsistnig  in  the  same  things,  and  being  equally  extend- 
ed. All  communions  or  societies,  however,  resemble 
the  parts  of  the  political  or  civil  communion.  For  men 
journey  together  with  a  view  to  a  certain  advantage,  and 
in  order  to  procure  something  which  pertains  to  human 
life.  Political  communion,  also,  appears  to  exist  for  the 
sake  of  advantage,  to  have  been  established  with  a  view 
to  this  from  the  beginning,  and  to  continue  so.  For  the 
attention  of  legislators  is  directed  to  this,  and  they  say 
that  what  is  advantageous  in  common  is  just.  Other 
communions,  therefore,  partially  aspire  after  utility. 
Thus,  sailors  aspire  after  the  utility  pertaining  to  naviga- 
tion, or  to  the  acquisition  of  wealth,  or  something  of  the 
like  kind  ;  but  soldiers  aspire  after  the  utility  pertaining- 
to  war,  whether  riches  are  the  object  of  their  desire,  or 
victory,  or  the  capture  of  cities.  The  like,  also,  takes 
place  among  tribes  and  the  populace.  Some  commu- 
nions, however,  appear  to  have  been  formed  on  account 
of  pleasure,  such  as  the  communion  from  the  celebration 
of  festivals,  or  from  societies  instituted  to  promote  good 
fellowship  ;  for  these  subsist  for  the  sake  of  sacrificmg 
and  aussodation.  But  all  these  appear  to  be  subject  to 
poUtical  communion ;  for  political  communion  does  not 
aspire  after  present  advantage,  but  to  that  which  pertains 
to  the  whole  of  life ;  performing  sacrifices,  and  for  this 
purpose  forming  assemblies,  bestowing  honours  on  the 
gtnis,  and  affording  a  cessation  from  labour,  in  conjunc- 
tion with  pleasure.    For  ancient  sacrifices  and  assemblies 


a^)ear  to  have  been  instituted  after  collecting  the  fruits 
of  the  earth,  as  first  fruits.  All  communions,  therefore, 
appear  to  be  parts  of  the  political  communion.  But 
such-like  friendships  follow  such-like  communions. 


\ 


CHAPTER    X. 


There  are,  however,  three  species  of  a  polity,  and  as 
many  deviations  from  them,  which  are,  as  it  were,  the 
corruptions  of  these  polities.     But  the  polities  indeed  are, 
a  kingdom,  an  aristocracy,  and  the  third  is  derived  from 
tlje  distribution  of  honours  through  the  medium  of  wealth^ 
which  as  it  seems  may  be  appropriately  called  a  timo-  ' 
cracy.     Most  men,  however,   are  accustomed  to  call  it 
j^simply]  a  polity.     But  of  these,  a  kingdom  is  the  best,' 
and  a  timocracy  is  the  worst.     The  deviation,  also,  from 
a  kingdom,  is  indeed  a  tyranny ;  for  both  are  monar- 
chies.    They    differ,   however,  very  much  from  each 
other.     For  the  tyrant,  indeed,  looks  to  his  own  advan- 
Uge ;  but  the  king  to  the  advantage  of  those  whom  he 
governs.     For  he  is  not  a  king  who  is  not  st^^cient  to 
\  himself,  and  who  does  not  surpass  his  subjects  in  ev&rjf 
Vind  of  good.     But  a  man  of  this  description  is  in  w»t 
pf  nothing.    Hence,  his  attention  wili  not  be  directed 


312 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VIU. 


to  what  is  advantageous  to  himself,  but  to  the  benefit  of 
those  whom  he  governs  ;  for  he  who  is  not  a  person  of 
this  description,  will  be  a  :ertain  elected  king.  A  tyrant, 
however,  is  the  contrary  to  a  king  [properly  so  called  ;] 
for  he  pursues  his  own  good.  And  from  this  it  is  more 
evident  that  he  is  the  worst  of  rulers ;  for  that  which  is 
contrary  to  the  best,  is  the  worst.  But  the  transition 
from  a  kingdom  is  into  a  tyranny  ;  for  a  tyranny  is  the 
depravity  of  a  monarchy.  And  a  depraved  king  becomes 
a  tyrant.  The  transition  from  an  aristocracy  is  into  an 
oligarchy,  through  the  vice  of  the  governors,  who  dis- 
tribute civil  offices  in  a  manner  contrary  to  desert ;  bestow 
upon  themselves  all,  or  the  greater  part  of  every  thing 
that  is  good,  and  always  appoint  the  same  persons  magis- 
trates, paying  more  attention  to  wealth  than  to  any  thing 
else.  Those,  therefore,  that  govern  are  few,  and  are 
depraved  instead  of  being  the  most  worthy  men.  But 
the  transition  from  a  timocracy  is  into  a  democracy  ; 
since  these  polities  border  on  each  other.  For  in  a  timo- 
cracy, also,  the  multitude  have  dominion,  and  all  those 
that  are  rich  are  equal.  A  democracy,  however,  is  in 
the  smallest  degree  depraved ;  for  it  deviates  but  little 
from  the  form  of  a  polity,  [i.  e.  from  a  timocracy]. 
After  this  manner,  therefore,  polities  are  especially 
x:hanged ;  for  thus  they  are  changed  the  least,  and  the 
most  easily.  The  resemblances,  however,  and  as  it  were 
paradigms  of  them  may  be  derived  from  families.  For 
the  communion,  or  society,  between  a  father  and  his 
children  has  the  form  of  a  kingdom  ;  for  a  father  pays 
attention  to  his  children  [for  their  own  sakes].  Hence, 
also,  Homer  calls  Jupiter  father;  for  the  intention  of  a 
kingdom  is  to  be  a  paternal  government.  But  among 
the  Persians  the  government  of  a  father  is  tyraimical ; 


CHAP.  X. 


ETHICS. 


313 


for  they  use  their  children  as  slaves.     The  government, 
likewise,  of  a  master  towards  his  servants  is  tyrannical ; 
for  in  this  government  that  alone  which  is  advantageous 
to  the  master  is  performed.     This,  therefore,  appears  to 
be  right ;  but  the  Persian  government  is  erroneous.    For 
,  of  things  that  are  different,  the  governments  also  are  dif- 
!  ferent.     But  the  government  of  man  and  wife  appears 
i  to  be  aristocratic.     For  the  man   governs   according  to 
desert,  and  in  those  things  in  which  it  is  proper  for  the 
man  to  govern  ;  but  he  permits  his  wife  to  rule  over 
such  things  as  are  adapted  to  be  governed  by  a  woman. 
If  the  man,  however,  has  dominion  in  all  things,  the  go- 
vernment is  changed  into  an  oligarchy  ;  for  he  does  this 
contrary  to  desert,  and  not  so  far  as  he  is  the  better  cha- 
racter.   But  it  sometimes  happens  that  women,  in  conse- 
quence of  being  heiresses,  govern  [even   in   things  per- 
taining to  men].     The  government,    therefore,   in  this 
case,  is  not  according  to  virtue,  but  is  through  wealth 
and   power,  in  the  same  manner  as  in  oligarchies.     And^ 
the  government  of  brothers  resembles  a  timocraqy  ;  for 
they  are  equal,  except  so  far  as  they  differ  in  their  ages. 
Hence,  if  there  is  »a  great  difference  in  their  ages,  the 
friendship  is  no  longer  fraternal.     But  a  democratic   go- 
vernment is  especially  to  be  seen  in  those  families  which 
are  without  a  master  :  for  here  all  govern  equally.     In  ' 
those  families,  also,  where  he  who  govern^  is  a  man  of 
a  weak  understanding,  every  one  has  the  power  of  acting 
as  he  pleases. 


314 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VIII. 


CHAPTER   XL 


In  each  of  the  polides,  however,  friendship  appears  to 
have  the  same  extent  as  justice.  And  the  friendship, 
indeed,  between  a  king  and  his  subjects,  consists  in  tran- 
scendency of  beneficence  ;  for  he  benefits  his  subjects, 
since,  being  a  good  man,  he  is  attentive  to  their  interest 
like  a  shepherd,  in  order  that  they  may  do  well.  Whence, 
also,  Homer  calls  Agamemnon  the  shepherd  of  the 
people.  Such,  likewise,  is  paternal  friendship;  but  it 
differs  in  the  magnitude  of  the  benefits  which  it  confers. 
For  the  father  is  the  cause  of  the  existence  of  his  child, 
which  appears  to  be  a  thing  of  the  greatest  consequence, 
and  also  procures  him  nutriment  and  education.  The 
same  things,  likewise,  are  attributed  to  progenitors ;  for 
a  father  is  naturally  adapted  to  rule  over  his  children, 
and  progenitors  over  the  offspring  of  their  children,  and 
kings  over  their  subjects.  Bnt  these  friendships  consist 
in  transcendency ;  on  which  account,  also,  parents  are 
honoured.  The  just,  therefore,  in  these  is  not  the  same, 
but  subsists  according  to  desert ;  for  thus,  also,  the 
friendship  subsists.  There  is  likewise,  the  same  friend- 
ship between  a  husband  and  wife,  as  in  an  aristocracy ; 
for  it  subsists  according  to  virtue,  and  a  more  ample  good 
is  attributed  to  the  better  character,  and  that  which  is 


CBTAP.  xr. 


ETHICS. 


515 


adapted  and  appropriate  is  attributed  to  each.     For  thus, 
also,  justice  is  effected.     But  the  friendship  of  brothers 
resembles  that  of  associates  ;  for  they  are  equal,  and  of 
the  same  age;  and  persons  of  this  description,   apply 
themselves  for  the  most  part  to  the  same  disciplines,  and 
are  similar  in  their  manners.     The  friendship,  therefore, 
which  exists  in  a  timocracy  resembles  this ;  for  in   this 
government  it  is  requisite  that   the  citizens  should  be 
equal  and  worthy  persons.     Hence,  they  alternately  and 
equally  govern.     Such,  therefore,    is  the   friendship  of 
brothers.     In  corrupt  polities,  however,  as  the  justice  is  \^ 
but  small,  so  likewise  is   the  friendship,  and  it  eidsts  in  \ 
the  smallest  degree  in  the  worst  polity.     For  in  a  ty- 
ranny there  is  either  no  friendship,  or  very  little ;  since  | 
among  those  with  whom  there  is  nothing  common  be- 
tween the  governor  and  the  governed,  there  is  not  any 
friendship ;  for  neither  is  there  any  justice.     But  tKe\ 
friendship  between  them,  resembles  that  which  is  betweea 
an  artist  and  his  instrument,  between  the  soul  and  the    ■ 
body,  and  between  a  master  and  his  servant ;  for  these 
indeed  are  benefited  by  those  that  use  them.     There  Is 
not,    however,  any  friendship  with,  nor  justice  towards 
things  inanimate,  as  neither  is  there  towards  a  horse  or 
an  ox,  or  towards  a  slave  so  far  as  he  is  a  slave,  since 
there  is  nothing  common  between  these.     For  a  slave  is 
an  animated  instrument ;  but  an  instrument  is  an  inani- 
mate slave.     So  far,  therefore,  as  he  is  a  slave,  there  is 
no  friendship  between  him  and  his  master;  but  there 
may  be  so  for  as  he  is  a  man.     For  it  appears  that  there 
is  a  certain  justice  due  from  every  man  towards  every 
man  who  is  able  to  partake  of  law  and  compact ;  and 
therefore  there  may  also  be  a  friendship  between  any  one 
man  and  another,  so  far  as  each  is  a  man.     In  tyrannical 


316 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VIII. 


governments,  however,  there  is  but  little  friendship  and 
justice ;  but  there  is  very  much  of  each  in  democra- 
cies ;  for  among  those  that  are  equal,  many  things  are 
con^mon. 


CHAPTER  XII.   U^^ 


.V 


-K 


All  friendship,  therefore,  as  we  have  before  observed, 
i  consists  in  communion ;  but  it  may  be  divided  into  that 
which  subsists  between  kindred,  and  that  which  subsists 
between  associates.  But  political  friendships,  the  friend- 
ships of  those  of  the  same  tribe,  of  those  who  sail  toge- 
ther, and  such  like,  are  more  similar  to  the  friendships  of 
associates  ;  for  they  appear  to  exist  as  it  were  from  com- 
pact. Among  these,  also,  hospitable  friendship  may  be 
ranked.  The  friendship,  likewise,  of  kindred  appears  to 
be  multiform,  and  the  whole  of  it  depends  from  paternal 
friendship.  For  parents  love  their  children,  as  being 
something  of  themselves  ;  but  children  love  their  parents, 
as  being  something  proceeding  from  them.  Parents, 
however,  have  a  greater  knowledge  of  their  offspring,  [so 
as  to  know  more  accurately  that  they  are  their  offspring,] 
than  the  offspring  know  that  they  proceeded  from  their 
parents ;  and  that  from  which  a  thing  is  generated  has  a 
greater  familiarity  and  alliance  with  the  thing  produced. 


CHAP.  XII. 


ETHICS. 


317 


than  the  thing  produced  has  with  its  maker.    For  that 
which  originates  from  a  thing,  is  the  property  of  that  from 
which  it  originates  ;  as  a  tooth,  or  a  hair,  or  any  thing 
else,  is  the  property  of  its  possessor;  but  that  from  which 
a  thing  originates,  is  not  the  property  of  any  one  of  the 
things  which  originate  from  it,  or  is  so  in  a  less  degree.* 
The  love  also  of  parents  to  their  children  is  superior  to 
that  of  children  to  their  parents,  by  length  of  time  ;  for 
parents  love  their  children  as  soon  as  they  are  bom  ;  but 
children  their  parents  in  process  of  time,  when  they  begin 
to  understand  or  perceive  that  they  are  their  parents. 
From  these  things,  likewise,  it  is  evident  on  what  account 
mothers  love  their   children  more    [than  fathers  love 
them].     Parents,  indeed,  therefore,  love  their  children 
as  themselves  ;  for  those  that  proceed  from  them  are  as 
it  were  their  other  selves,  by  being  separated  from  them  j 
but  children  love  their  parents,  as  proceeding  from  them. 
Brothers,  however,   love  each  other  in  consequence  of 
being  born  from  the  same  parents ;  for  sameness  with 
their  parents  causes  them  to  be  the  same  with  each  other. 
Hence  it  is  said,  that  they  have  the  same  blood,  the  same 
root,  and  such  like  expressions.     They  are,  therefore,  in 
a  certain  respect,  one  and  the  same  in  separate  bodies. 
The  being  educated  together  also,  and  equality  of  age, 
greatly  contribute  to  friendship ;  for  [according  to  the 
proverb,] 

«  Equal  delights  in  equal  age." 

'  When  cause  and  effect  are  of  such  a  nature,  that  the  latter  de- 
rives Its  existence  from  the  former,  then  the  effect  is  the  property  of 
the  cause ;  since  previously  to  proceeding  from,  it  was  contained  in 
it.  But  the  cause  is  not,  properly  speaking,  the  property  of  the 
effect ;  for  the  effect  only  participates  of  the  cause,  but  does  not  con- 
tain the  whole  of  it  in  itself. 


*I8 


THE    NiCOMACHEAN 


BOOK  Villi 


And  those  who  are  accustomed  to  the  same  things  are 
associates.  Hence,  also,  fraternal  friendship  is  assimi- 
lated to  the  friendship  of  associates.  Cousins,  likewise, 
and  the  remaining  kindred  become  conjoined  from  the 
friendship  of  brothers,  in  consequence  of  [mediately] 
originating  from  the  same  persons.  Some,  however,  be- 
come more  united  in  friendship,  and  others  less,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  source  of  their  race  being  nearer,  or  more 
remote.  But  the  friendship  of  children  towards  their 
parents,  and  of  men  towards  the  gods,  is  as  towards  that 
which  is  good  and  transcendent.  For  parents  and  the 
gods  confer  the  greatest  benefits  ;  for  they  are  the  causes 
of  existence  and  of  being  nourished,  and  when  they  are 
of  a  proper  age,  of  being  educated.  A  friendship,  also, 
of  this  kind,  possesses  the  delectable  and  the  useful  in  a 
greater  degree  than  the  friendship  of  strangers,  becausie 
their  life  is  in  a  greater  degree  more  common.  Those 
things,  however,  are  to  be  found  in  fraternal  friendship, 
which  exist  in  the  friendship  of  associates;  and  in  a 
greater  degree  in  those  that  are  worthy,  and  in  short,  in 
those  that  are  similar,  in  proportion  as  they  are  more 
familiar,  and  love  each  other  from  their  birth  ; 
and  in  proportion  as  those  who  are  born  from  the 
same  parents,  who  are  nourished  together,  and  simi- 
larly  educated,  are  more  similar  in  their  manners.  In 
this  friendship,  likewise,  the  proof  which  is  obtained 
from  time,  is  most  abundant,  and  most  firm.  And  things 
pertaining  to  friendship  subsist  analogously  in  the  remain- 
ing gradations  of  kindred.  But  the  friendship  between 
man  and  wife  appears  to  be  according  to  nature ;  for  man 
is  more  a  connubial  thjLn  a  political  animal ;  and  this  by 
how  much  more  a  family  is  prior  to,  and  more  necessary 
than  a  city,  and  the  procreation  of  offspring  is  more  com- 

I 


CHAP.  XII. 


ETHICS. 


319 


mon  to  all  animals.    In  other  animals,  therefore,  the  com- 
munion proceeds  thus  far,  [i.  e.  as  for  as  to  the  procre- 
ation of  offspring ;]  but  men  and  women  not  only  cohabit 
for  the  sake  of  begetting  children,  but  also  with  a  view 
to  the  necessaries  and  conveniences  of  life.     For  their 
employments  are  immediately  divided,  and  those  of  the 
husband  are  different  from  those  of  the  wife.     Hence, 
they  assist  each  other,  referring  their  own  private  posses- 
sions  to  the  common  [good  of  the  family].     On  account 
of  these  things,  therefore,  both  the  useful  and  the  delec- 
table appear  to  be  contained  in  this  friendship.     It  will 
also  exist  on  account  of  virtue,  if  the  husband  and  wife 
are  worthy  characters.     For  there  is  a  virtue  pertaining 
to  each,  and  they  will  rejoice  in  a  thing  of  this  kind. 
Children,  however,  appear  to  be  a  bond ;   and  hence 
those   marriages   that  are   without   children  are   more 
swiftly  dissolved.      For  children  are  a  common  good  to 
both  the  husband  and  wife ;  and  that  which  is  common 
connects.    To  mquire  also  how  a  husband  ought  to  live 
'  with  his  wife,  and  in  short,  one  friend  with  another, 
appears  to  be  nothmg  else  than  to  inquire  how  justice 
subsists  between  them.    For  it  does  not  appear  that  there 
j  is  the  same  justice  between  one  friend  and  another,  nor 
between  one  stranger,  one  associate,  and  one  disciple, 
with  another. 


..«fc 


«»' 


320 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


JJOOK  VJll* 


^m 


CHAFrER  XIII. 


Since,  therefore,  there  are  three  kinds  of  friendship, 
as  was  observed  in  the  beginning,  and  according  to  each 
some  are  friends  in  equality,  but  others  according  to 
transcendency ;  for  similarly  good  men  are  friends,  and 
[between  worthy  men  who  are  not  equally  worthy^  the 
more  may  be  the  friend  of  the  less  worthy,  and  in  a  simi- 
lar manner  with  respect  to  friendships  which  subsist  on 
account  of  delight,  and  on  account  of  utility,  they 
may  be  equal  or  unequal,  and  different  in  the  ad- 
vantages with  which  they  are  attended  ; — this  being 
the  case,*  it  is  requisite  that  those  friends  who  are 
equal  should  be  equalized  in  loving  and  other  things, 
[pertaining  to  friendship,]  but  that  those  who  are  une- 
qual, should  render  to  themselves  that  which  is  analogous 
m  tran^endencies/  Accusations,  however,  and  complaints 
reasonably  take  place  in  that  friendship  alone,  or  princi- 
pally, ^which  is  founded  in  utility.  For  those  who  are  ^  ' 
friend^,  on  account  of  virtue,  are  readily  disposed  to  bene- 
fit each  other ;  for  this  is  the  peculiarity  of  virttfe  and 
friendship.  But  with  those  who  contend  with  each 
other  in  kindness,  there  are  no  accusations  noncontests ; 

Viz.  By  how  muc^more  one  friend  is  better  tha^mg^juby 
so  much  the  more  he  ought  to  be  beloved.  ,  ^ 


GHAP.  xril. 


ETHICS. 


321 


for  no  one  is  indignant  with  him  who  loves  and  benefits 
him ;  but  if  he  is  grateful,  he  will  recompense  him  by 
benefiting  him  in  return.      He,  however,  who  transcends 
[in  the  benefits  which  he  confers,]  obtaining  that  which 
he  desires,  will  not  accuse  his  friend  y  for  each  aspires 
after  good.     Nor  do  accusations  and  complaints  very 
much  take  place  in  the  friendships  which  are  founded  in 
pleasure ;  for  at  one  and  the  same  time  both  obtain  the 
object  of  their  desire,  if  they  rejoice  to  live  together. 
He,  however,  will  appear  to  be  ridiculous  who  accuses 
him  by  whom  he  is  not  delighted,  when  it  is  not  possible 
to  spend  his  time  with  him.     But  the  friendship  which  is 
founded  in  utility,  is  full  of  accusations  and  complaints ; 
for  since  they  make  use  of  each  other  with  a  view  to  ad- 
vantage, they  are  always  in  want  of  more,  and  fancy  they 
have  less  than  is  proper,  and  blame  their  friends  because 
they  do  not  obtain  as  much  as  they  are  in  want  of,  though 
they  deserve  to  obtain  it.     But  those  who  benefit  are  not 
able  to  supply  as  much  as  those  who  are  benefited  require. 
It  appears,  however,  that  as  the  just  is  twofold,  for  one 
kind  is  unwritten,  but  the  other  is  legal,  thus  also  with 
respect  to  the  friendship  which  is  founded  in  utility,  one 
kind  indeed  is  ethical,  but  the  other  is  legal.     Accusa- 
tions, therefore,  then  especially  take  place,  when  com- 
pacts are  formed  and  dissolved,  not  with  a  view  to  the 
Hpime  friendship  [as  that  by  which  they  are  united].    But 
the  legal  friendship  founded  in  utility,  is  that  which  sub- 
sists by  compacts ;  one  kind,  indeed,  being  entirely  venal, 
from  hand  to  hand,  [viz.  such  as  takes  place  in  buying 
and  selling ;]  but  another  kind  is  more  liberal,  in  which 
one  thing  is  to  be  given  for  another  at  a  stated  titne,  but 
from  compact.     In  this  friendship,  however,  that  which 
is  owing  is  manifest,  and  is  not  ambiguous,  but  a  friendly 
ArisL  VOL.  ii.  u 


322 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


Book  viii. 


delay  is  permitted  to  take  place.     Hence,  with  some  of 
these,  there  are  no  judicial  processes,  but  they  think  it  is 
i:equisite  to  love  those  who  form  compacts,  from  the  obli- 
gation of  fidelity.     But  the  ethical  friendship  does  not 
consist  in  compacts,  but  what  it  gives,  it  gives  as  to  a 
friend,  and  this  is  also  the  case  with  whatever  is  imparted 
by  the  one  to  the  other.  He,  however,  who  gives  thinks  it 
fit  that  he  should  receive  in  return  an  equivalent,  or  more 
than  an  equivalent,  as  if  he  had  not  given  but  lent ;  but 
if  he  does  not  receive  the  retribution  which  he  expected 
from  the  contract,  he  accuses  his  friend.     And  this  hap- 
pens because  all  or  most  men  wish  to  obtain  things  which 
are  truly  beautiful,  but  deliberately  choose  what  is  advan- 
tageous.     But  it  is  beautiful  to  benefit,  not  with  a  view  to 
be  benefited  in  return ;  and  it  is  advantageous  to  be  bene- 
fited.   He,  therefore,  who  is  able,  ought  to  make  a  retri- 
bution  equivalent  to  the  benefit  he  has  received,  and 
willingly ;  for  a  friend  must  not  return  kindness  unwil- 
lingly.    If,  therefore,  he  has  erred  from  the  first,  and 
has  been  benefited  by  an  improper  person  ;  for  he  was 
not  benefited   by  a  friend,  nor  by  one  who  did  this  for 
his  sake ;— if  this  be  the  case,  retribution  must  be  made, 
as  if  he  had  been  benefited  by  compact.     Hence,  he  who 
has  been  benefited  by  such  a  one,  ought  to  promise  that 
he  will  make  a  retribution  if  he  can  ;  but  if  he  cannot,  he 
who   conferred  the  benefit  ought  not  to  think  it  fit  ths^ 
he  should  be  recompensed,  so  that  if  possible,  retribution 
is  to  be  made.     In  the  beginning,  however,  it  is  requisite, 
when  a  benefit  is  offered,  to   consider  by  whom  it  is 
offered,  and  with  what  view,  so  as  either  to  accept  or  ire- 
fuse  It.     But  it  may  be  doubted,  whether  retribution  is 
to  be  measured  by  the  advantage  of  him  who  receives  it, 
or  by  the  beneficence  of  him  who  made  it.     For  those 


» « 


CHAP.  XIII. 


ETHICS. 


323 


who  receive  it  say  in  extenuation  that  they  receive 
such  things  from  benefactors  as  are  of  little  use  to  them 
and  which  they  might  have  received  from  others ;  but, 
on  the  contrary,  the  benefactors  say  that  they  bestow  the 
greatest  things  which  it  was  in  their  power  to  give,  and 
which  could  not  be  obtained  from  others,  and  that  they 
conferred  them  in  dangerous  circumstances,  or  such-like 
necessities.  Since,  therefore,  this'friendshTp  subsists  on 
account  of  utility,  the  measure  of  it  is  the  advantage  of 
him  who  is  benefited.  For  he  is  the  person  who  is  in 
jjrant,  and  his  friend  assists  him,  in  order  that  he  may 
receive  an  equal  benefit  in  return.  The  assistance,  there- 
fore, afforded  by  him  who  is  benefited,  will  be  as  great 
as  that  which  he  received.  And  as  much  or  even  more 
must  be  given  by  him  in  return  ;  for  it  is  more  beautiful 
and  becoming.  But  in  those  friendships  which  are 
founded  in  virtue,  there  are  no  accusations^  and  the  deli- 
berate  choice  of  him  who  benefits  resembles  a  measure. 
jFor  the  authority  of  virtue  and  manners  consists  in  deli- 
berate choice. 


2I^ 


up 


I  ,'  u    -      V 


ii  ^r% 


■** 


324 


THE  NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  VIII. 


^CHAPTER  XIV. 


Dissensions,  however,  take  place  in  those  friend- 
ships which  subsist  accor<Ung  to  transcendency ;  for  each 
thinks  it  fit  that  he  should  have  more  than  the  other.  But 
when  this  takes  place,  the  friendship  is  dissolved.     For 
the  better  character  of  the  two  thinks  it  is  proper  that  he 
should  have  more  than  the  other  ;  for  more  ought  to  be 
distributed  to  a  good  man.    This  is  also  the  case  with 
him  who  is  the  more  useful  person  of  the  two ;  for  they 
say  it  is  not  fit  that  he  who  is  useless  should  have  an  equal  ^ 
portion  with  him  who  is  useful ;  since  ministrant  offices 
will  take  place,  and  not  friendship,  unless  what  is  done 
from  friendship  is  accordJog  to  the  desert  of  the  deeds. 
For  they  are  of  opinion,  that  as  in  pecuniary  negociauons, 
those  who  employ  a  greater  sum  of  money  receive  more 
profit,  thus  also  it  ought  to  be  in  friendship.     The  con- 
trary, however,  is  the  opinion  of  him  who  is  indigent, 
and  who  is  the  worse  character  j  for  these  think  that  it  is 
the  province  of  a  good  friend  to  assist  those  that  are  m 
want.  For  what  advantage,  say  they,  is  there  in  bong  the 
friend  of  a -worthy  or  powerful  man,  if  no  benefit  is  to  pe 
derived  from  him  ?    It  seems,  however,  that  each  tWnks 
rightly,  ^d  that  it  is  requisite  to  distribute  more  to  each 
from  friendship,  yet  not  of  the  same  Amg,  but  more  of 


CHAP.  XIV. 


ETHICS. 


32^ 


honour  indeed  to  him  who  transcends,  but  more  of  gain 
to  him  who  is  indigent ;  for  honour  indeed  is  the  reward 
of  virtue  and  beneticence,  but  gain  is  the  auxiliary  of 
indigence.  This  also  appears  to  be  the  case  in  polities. 
For  he  is  not  honoured  who  is  the  cause  of  no  good  to 
the  community  j  since  that  which  is  common  is  given  to 
him  who  benefits  the  community  ;  but  honour  is  some- 
thing  common.  For  it  is  not  possible  for  a  man  at  one 
and  the  same  time  to  be  enriched  and  honoured  by  the 
community ;  since  no  one  endures  to  have  less  in  all 
things.  Hence  to  him  who  is  inferior  in  wealth  honour 
is  given  ;  but  money  to  him  who  is  to  be  bribed  by  gifts. 
For  distribution  according  to  desert  equalizes  and  pr«- 
serves  friendship,  as  we  have  before  observed.  In  this 
manner,  therefore,  it  is  requisite  to  act  towards  those 
who  are  unequal ;  and  he  who  is  benefited  either  in 
wealth,  or  in  virtue,  should  remunerate  him  by  whom  he 
is  benefitted  with  honour,  thus  recompensing  him  as  far 

^as  he  is  able.  For  friendship  requires  that  which  is  pos- 
sible, and  not  that  which  is  according  to  desert.  For  a 
recompense   according   to  desert  is  not  possible  in  ^1 

.things,  as  in  honours  conferred  on  the  gods  and  parents; 
since  no  one  can  bestow  these^  according  to  desert ;  but 
he  who  pays  homage  to  them  to  the  utmost  of  his  power 
appears  to  be  a  worthy  man.  Hence,  though  it  would 
seem  not  to  be  lawful  for  a  son  to  abandon  his  father,  yet 
it  is  lawful  for  a  father  to  abandon  his  son.  For  a  return 
ought  to  be  made  by  him  who  is  a  debtor.  But  a  son 
can  do  nothing  worthy  of  the  benefits  he  has  received 
from  his  father ;  so  that  he  will  always  be  his  debtor* 

■^hose,  however,  to  whom  others  are  indebted  have  the 

^  power  of  abandoning  their  debtors ;  and,  therefore,  a 
father  has  this  power.  ,  At  the  same  time,  however,  no 


326 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS.        BOOK  VUI* 


father  perhaps  will  abandon  his  son,  unless  the  son  is 
transcendently  depraved ;  for,  exclusive  of  natural  friend- 
ship, it  is  human  not  to  refuse  giving  assistance  when  it 
is  wanted.  But  if  the  son  is  depraved,  he  is  either  to  be 
avoided  by  his  father,  or  his  father  must  not  be  anxious 
to  assist  him.  [A  depraved  son,  however,  sometimes 
hates  his  father,  or  at  least  does  not  very  much  endeavour 
to  assist  him/]  For  the  multitude  wish  to  be  benefited; 
but  they  avoid  acting  beneficently,  as  a  useless  thing. 
And  thus  much  concerning  these  particulars. 

'  This  sentence  within  the  brackets,  I  have  added  from  Mr.^ 
Bridgman*s  translation  of  the  Paraphrase  on  the  Nicdmachean 
Ethics,  by  an  anonymous  Greek  writer,  as  what  follows  it  in  the  text 
seems  to  require  it,  as  is  well  observed  by  Wilkinson. 


I 


THE 


NICOMACHEAN    ETHICS. 


BOOK  IX. 


CHAFl'ER  I. 


t 


■f 


I* 


•■■  •"•*• 


In  all  friendships,  however,  which  are  of  a  dissiroilar 
^species,  the  analogous,  as  we  have  already  observed, 
^equalizes  and  preserves  friendship.  Thus,  for  instance, 
in  the  political  friendship,  to  the  shoemaker  a  retribution 
is  made  for  his  shoes,  according  to  their  worth,  and  to 
the  weaver,  and  other  artificers.  Here,  therefore,  a  com- 
mon measure,  money,  is  employed ;  and  to  this  every 
thing  is  referred,  and  by  this  is  measured.  But  m  the 
amatory  friendship,  sometimes  indeed  the  lover  accuses 
the  object  of  his  love,  that  though  he  loves  her  beyond 
measure,  he  is  not  beloved  in  return,  though,  if  it  should 


&«aA,»^uai&a-riJ^^A^.ft.n.:»i»wjMM'«aie>»p«l^^ 


328 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


B0DK  IX. 


SO  happen,  he  has  nothing  which  can  excite  love.  Fre- 
quently, however,  she  who  is  beloved  complains  that  her 
lover,  having  formerly  promised  every  thing,  now  per- 
forms nothing  [that  he  had  promised].  But  things  of 
this  kind  happen,  when  the  one  indeed  loves  the  object 
of  his  love  on  account  of  pleasure,  but  the  other  loves 
her  lover  on  account  of  utility ;  and  these  things  are  not 
^present  with  both.  For  since  the  friendship  exists  on 
account  of  these  things,  a  dissolution  of  it  takes  place, 
when  those  things  are  not  accomplished  which  are  the 
final  causes  of  their  love.  For  they  do  not  love  each 
other,  but  what  each  possesses,  which  is  not  stable. 
Hence,  such  also  are  their  friendships,  [viz.  they  are  not 
stable].  The  friendship,  however,  which  is  founded  in 
manners  [i.  e.  virtuous  friendship]  since  it  exists  per  se, 
[or  independent  of  external  circumstances]  is  permanent, 
as  we  have  before  observed.  But  friends  also  disagree 
when  other  things  happen  to  them,  and  not  those  which 
were  the  objects  of  their  desire ;  for  when  a  man  does 
not  obtain  that  which  he  desired,  it  is  just  as  if  he  ob- 
tained nothing.  Thus,  a  certain  person  promised  a  harper 
that  he  would  reward  him  in  proportion  to  the  excellence 
of  his  singing.  But  in  the  morning,  when  the  harper 
demanded  the  fulfilment  of  his  promise,  he  said  that  he 
had  returned  pleasure  for  pleasure.*  If,  therefore,  this 
[i.  e,  pleasure]  had  been  the  wish  of  each,  the  harper 
would  have  been  sufficiently  recompensed  ;  but  if  the 
object  of  the  one  was  delight,  and  of  the  other  gain,  and 
if  the  object  of  the  one  was  accomplished,  but  not  of  the. 
other,  the  compact  between  them  was  not  well  fulfilled. 

'  Plutarch  attributes  this  deed  to  Dionysius  the    Syracusan 
tyrant.  .^ 


-■*j<:  j-jiirt*.-a>fft    ,^iAAK.-A^-j^V-*r..^''.M¥'&i'*,ii*^^Ara.f~iu,'*-JA^i^'''*^^'it£SiAiiai£l^^  u<lfci&te5lKh5.J*^> 


CHAP.  I. 


ETHICS. 


329 


F^r  a  man  will  attend  to  those  things  of  which  he  is  in 
want,  and  for  the  sake  of  them  will  give  what  is  requisite. 
With  respect,  however,  to  the  recompense  which  ought 
to  be  made,  whether  ought  it  to  be  estimated  by  him  who 
gives,  or  by  him  who  receives  ?  For  he  who  gives  first, 
seems  to  leave  to  the  receiver  what  the  recompense 
should  be;  which  they  say  Protagoras'  also  did. 
For  when  he  had  taught  any  thing,  he  ordered  the 
learner  to  estimate  what  appeared  to  him  to  be  the  worth 
of  the  knowledge  he  had  gained,  and  he  received  accord- 
ing to  his  valuation.  But  in  things  of  this  kind,  to  some 
persons  it  is  sufficient  to  say. 

Sufficient  be  the  price  a  friend  appoints.* 

Those,  however,  who  having  first  received  money,  after- 
wards perform  nothing  which  they  had  promised  to  do,  on 
account  of  the  excessive  magnitude  of  their  promise,  are 
deservedly  accused ;  for  they  do  not  perform  what  they 
had  agreed  to  accomplish.  But  the  sophists  perhaps  are 
compelled  to  do  this,  because  no  one  would  give  money 
for  those  things  which  they  know.  These,  therefore,  ^ 
because  they  do  not  perform  that  for  which  they  received 
a  reward,  are  justly  blamed.  With  those  persons,  how- 
ever, among  whom  there  is  no  compact  for  services  per- 
formed, we  have  already  observed  that  those  who  fir&t 
give  to  others  on  their  own  account,  are  not  to  be 
blamed ;  for  of  this  kind  is  the  friendship  which  is 
founded  in  virtue.  Retribution,  also,  must  be  made  ac- 
cording to  deliberate  choice ;  for  this  is  the  province  of 

*  See  my  translation  of  the  Protagoras  of  Plato. 

*  This  verse  is  from  the  Works  and  Days  of  Hesiod  ;  but  die 
half  of  it  only  is  quoted  by  Aristode. 


330 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK    IX. 


a  friend,  and  of  virtue.     This  conduct,  likewise/  as  it 
seems,  should  be  adopted  by  those  who  are  associates  in 
philosophy ;  for  the  worth  of  philosophy  is  not  to  be 
measured  by  money,  nor  can  any  honour  be  conferred 
equivalent  to  its  dignity.    But  perhaps  it  is  sufficient  that 
a  recompense  as  great  as  possible  is  made,  in  the  same 
manner  as  towards  the  gods  and  parents.^    Where,  how- 
ever, the  gift  is  not  such  as  this,  but  is  conferred  with  a 
view  to  a  certain  thing,  [i.  e.  with  a  view  to  some  recom- 
pense,] a  remuneration  perhaps  ought  especially  to  be 
made,  which  to  both  friends  will  appear  to  be  according 
to  desert.     But  if  this  should  not  happen  to  take  place,  it 
may  not  only  appear  to  be  necessary,  but  also  to  be  just, 
that  he  who  first  received,  should  determine  what  is  an 
equal  compensation.     For  if  as  much  advantage  or  plea-' 
sure  is  returned  as  was  received,  the  remuneration  will 
be  according  to  desert.     For  this  also  appears  to  take 
place  in  traffic ;  and  in  some  places  there  are  laws  which 
forbid  any  judicial  processes  respecting  voluntary  con- 
tracts ;  as  if  it  were  fit  that  in  communions  of  this  kind 
there  should  be  no  other  judge,  nor  any  other  law,  but 
that  all  differences  should  be  decided  by  the  person  in 
whom  trust  is  reposed,  and  by  whom  such  contracts  are 
used.     For  they  think  that  he  who  was  intrusted  to  esti- 
mate the  retribution,  will  judge  more  justly  than  he  who 
reposed  that  trust ;  since,  for  the  most  ^art,  those  who 
possess,  and  those  who  wish  to  receive  any  thing,  do  not 
estimate  equitably.     For  every  one  thinks  that  his  own 
property  and  what  he  gives  are  of  great  value.     At  the 
Same  time,  however,  the  retribution  should  be  as  great 
as  it  is  determined  to  be  by  those  who  receive  the  gift. 
Perhaps,  however,  a  thing  is  not  to  be  estimated  to  be 
worth  so  much  as  it  appeared  to  its  possessor,  but  to  be 


CHAP.  II. 


ETHICS. 


331 


worth  as  much  as  he  would   have  estimated  it  to  be 
before  he  possessed  it. 


CHAPTER    II. 


Such  particulars,  however,  as  the  following  are  du- 
bious, viz.  whether  all  things  are  to  be  assigned  to  a 
father,  and  he  is  to  be  obeyed  in  all  things.      Or  whether 
the  sick  man  ought  indeed  to  obey  the  physician ;  and 
he  who  votes  for  the  general  of  an  army,  ought  to  give 
tbe  preference    to  a  man  skilled  in   warlike  concerns. 
And  in  a  similar  manner,  whether  it  is  proper  to  be  sub- 
servient  to  a  friend  rather  than  to  a  worthy  man.      And 
whether  remuneration  is  rather  to  be  made  to  a  benefac- 
tor than  to  an  associate,  if  it  is  impossible  to  make  it  to 
both.      It   is  not  therefore  easy  to  determine  all  such 
particulars   accurately;    for   they   have  many  and   all- 
various  differences,  in  magnitude  and  parvitude,  in  the 
'beautiful  and  the  necessary.     But  it  is  not  immanifest 
that  not  all  things  are  to  be  given  to  the  same  person ; 
'and   that  for  the    most  part  benefits  are  rather   to  be 
■  returned  to  those  from  whom  they  were  received,  than 
'gifts  are  to  be  bestowed  on  associates :  just  as  it  is  more 
proper  to  return  a  loan  to  him  from  whom  it  was  bor- 
rowed,  than  to  make  a  present  to  an  associate.     Perhaps, 


I 


3S2 


THE   NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IX. 


CHAP.  II. 


ETHICS. 


333 


however,  this  must  not  always  be  done.    For  if  any  one 
should  be  made  a  prisoner  by  robbers,  it  may  be  inquired 
whether  he  who  redeems  him  should  be  redeemed  in  his 
turn,  be  he  who   he   may  :    or,  whether  the   price  of 
redemption  should  be  given  to  him  who  demands  it  as 
his  due,  though  he  has  not  been  taken  prisoner ;  or  whe- 
ther,  in  preference  to  all  these,  a  father  ought  to  be  re- 
deemed.     For  it  would  seem  that  a  man  should  rather 
ransom  his  father  than  himself.     Universally,  therefore, 
as  we  have  said,  a  debt  ought  to  be  paid ;  but  if  the 
/:  donation  surpasses  in  the  beautiful  or  the  necessary,  wc 
should  incline  to   it,  [rather  than  to  the  discharge  of 
a  debt.]     For  sometimes  it  is  not  equitable  to  return  a 
benefit  which  another  person  has  first  conferred,  when 
he  indeed  conferred  the   benefit  knowing  that  it  was 
bestowed  on  a  worthy  man,  but  the  retribution  will  be 
made  to  one  whom  he  who  is  to  make  it  believes  to  be  a 
depraved  man.      For  neither  sometimes  is  a  loan  to  be 
granted  to  Hm  who  has  lent.     For  the  one  indeed,  [i.  e. 
the  depraved  man]  thinking  that  he  shall  receive  back 
what  he  has  lent,  grants  a  loan  to  the  worthy  man,  but 
the  other  [i.  e.  the  worthy  man,]  does  not  expect  that 
what  he  has  lent  will  be  returned  by  the  depraved  man. 
Whether,  therefore,  the  thing  thus  exists  in  reality,  the 
merit  of  the  parties  is  not  equal,  or  whether  it  does  not 
thus  exist,  but  it  is  fancied  that  it  dges,  they  will  not  appear 
to  act  absurdly.     Therefore,  as  it  has  frequently  been  ob- 
served,   assertions  concerning  passions  and  actions  arc 
similarly  definite  and  certain  with  the  things  about  which 
'  they  are  conversant.     It  is  not,  therefore,-  immanifest, 
that  the  same  things  are  not  to  be  bestowed  on  all  men, 
nor  all  things  on  a  father,  as  neither  are  all  things  to  be 
sacrificed  to  Jupiter.    Since,  however,  different  things  are 


to  be  returned  to  parents,  brothers,  associates,  and  bene- 
factors,  a  retribution  is  to  be  made  to  each  of  such  thmgs 
i  are  proper  and  appropriate.     And  thus  indeed  men 
J^arVact.     For'they   invite,  their  kindred  to  wed 
dijgs  -,  since  the  genus  of  these  is  common,  and,  there- 
fore,  the  actions  also  which  are  conversant  with  this  are 
common.     For  the  same  reason,  likewise,  they  think  it 
especially  necessary  that  kindred  should  be  present  at  fu- 
nerals      But  it  would  seem  that  it  is  especially  necessary 
to  supply  our  parents  with  nutriment,  because  we  are 
their  debtors ;  and  it  is  more  beautiful  to  supply  with 
these  things  the  causes  of  our  existence  than  ourselves 
Honour  also  is  to  be  paid  to  parents  as  to  the  gods ;  yet 
not  every  honour  is  to  be  paid  to  them.     For  neither  is 
.  the  same  honour  to  be  paid  to  a  father  and  mother ;  nor 
again,  to  a  wise  man,  or  the  general  of  an  army  ;  but  to 
'a  father  paternal,  and  to  a  mother  maternal  honour  is  to 
be  paid.     To  every  elderly  man,  likewise,  honour  is  to  be 
paid  according  to  his  age,  by  rising  ^om-^ur  seat  and 
resigning  it  to  him,  and  by  other  things  of  the  like  kmd 
To  associates  again,  and  brothers,  freedom  of  speech 
must  be  granted,  and  a  participation  in  common  of  all 
things.     To  kindred,  also,  to  those  of  the  same  tribe,  to 
fellow-citizens,  and  to  all  the  rest  of  mankind,  we  should 
endeavour  lo  distribute  what  is  appropriate,  and  judi- 
ciously  determine  what  pertains  to  each  according  to  fami- 
liarity and  virtue,  or  use.     A  judgment,  therefore,  may 
more  easily  be  made  respecting  those  who  are  of  the  same 
senus ;  but  in  those  of  a  different  genus,  the  decision  is 
more  difficult.     We  must  not,  however,  on  this  ac<:ount 
idesist,  but  determine  as  far  as  circumstances  will  permit, 


334 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BPOK  IX. 


CHAPTER  III. 


The  dissolution  also  of  friendships  is  attended  with  a 
doubt,  viz.  whether  friendship  is  to  be  dissolved  with 
those  who  do  not  continue  to  be  our  friends.  Or  shall  we 
say  that  with  those  who  are  friends  on  account  of  advan- 
tage and  delight,  when  they  no  longer  possess  these,  it 
is  by  no  means  absurd  that  the  friendship  should  be  dis- 
solved ?  For  they  were  the  friends  of  these  things  [viz. 
of  things  advantageous  and  delectable,]  and  these  failing, 
it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  they  will  no  longer  be 
attached  to  each  other.  He,  however,  may  be  [justly] 
accused,  who  loving  another  person  on  account  of  advan- 
tage  or  delight,  pretends  that  he  loves  on  account  of 
manners,  [i.  e.  virtuously].  For  as  we  said  in  the  begin- 
ning,  numerous  dissensions  take  place  among  friends, 
when  they  are  not  in  reality  such  friends  as  they  fancy 
they  are.  When,  therefore,  any  one  is  deceived,  an'd 
apprehends  that  he  is  beloved  on  account  of  his  manners, 
though  at  the  same  time  he  does  nothing  that  is  virtuotis, 
he  should  blame  himself.  But  when  he  is  deceived  by 
the  pretensions  of  the  other,  it  is  just  to  accuse  the  de- 
ceiver, and  more  so  than  those  who  adulterate  money, 
because  the  improbity  pertains  to  a  more  honourable 
thing.     If,  however,  he  admittedhim  into  his  friendship 


CHAP.  HL 


ETHICS. 


335 


as  a  good  man,  but  he  becomes  a  bad  man,  or  should 
appear  to  have  become  a  bad  man,  is  he  still  to  be  be- 
loved ?    Or  is  this  not  possible  ?   Since  not  every  thing 
deserves  to  be  beloved,  but  that  only  which  is  good. 
Neither,  therefore,  is  a  bad  man  to  be  beloved,  nor  is  it 
necessary  that  he  should.     For  it  is  not  fit  to  be  a  lover 
of  what  is  depraved,  nor  to  be  assimilated  to  a  bad  man. 
And  we  have  already  observed  that  the  similar  is  a  friend 
to  the  similar.     Is  the  friendship,  therefore,  to  be  imme- 
diately dissolved  ?  Or  shall  we  say,  not  with  all  persons, 
but  with  those  who  are  incurable  on  account  of  their 
depravity  ?  For  assistance  ought  rather  to  be  given  to 
the  manners  of  those  who  are  capable  of  being  correct- 
ed, than   to  their  worldly  possessions,  because   this  is 
better,  and  more  adapted  to  friendship.     He,  however, 
who  dissolves  such  a  friendship  will  appear  not  to  act  at 
all  absurdly ;  for  he  was  not  a  friend  to  this  man,  or  to 
a  man  of  this  description.     Hence,  as  he  cannot  restore 
him,  being  thus  changed,  to  virtue,  he  abandons  him. 
But  if  the  one  indeed  continues  [such  as  he  was  at  first,] 
and  the  other  should  become  more  worthy,  so  as  very 
mxch  to  transcend  in  virtue,  is  the  latter  still  to  use  the 
former  as  a  friend  ?  Or  is  this  not  possible  ?  This,  how- 
ever, becomes  especially  evident  in  a  great  interval,  as  in 
the  friendships  formed  from  childhood.     For  if  one  of 
these  should  still   remain  a  child  in  understanding,  but 
the  other  |^uld  be  a  most  excellent  man,  how  can  they 
be  friends,  when  they  are  neither  addicted  to  the  same 
pursuits,  nor  delighted  and  pained  with  the  same  things  ? 
JFor  neither  will  these  be  present  with  them  towards  each 
'   other.     But  without'  these  they  cannot  be  friends ;  for 
they  cannot  live  together.    Concerning  these  particulars, 
iowever,  we  have  already  spoken,     St§ll  we  say,  there- 


336 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IX. 


fore,  [that  when  the  friendship  is  dissolved,]  the  one 
ought  nevertheless  so  to  conduct  himself  towards  the 
other  as  if  he  had  never  been  his  friend  ?  Or  is  it  neces- 
sary that  he  should  still  retain  the  memory  of  their  past 
friendship  ?  And  as  we  think  it  is  proper  to  gratify  friends 
rather  than  strangers,  thus  also  shall  we  say,  something 
must  be  conceded  to  former  friends,  on  account  of  pris- 
tine friendship,  when  the  dissolution  of  it  was  not  occa- 
sioned by  an  excess  of  depravity  ? 


CHAPTER    IV. 

With  respect,  however,  to  friendly  offices,  and  those 
things  by  which  friendships  are  defined,  they  seem  to  pro- 
ceed from  the  conduct  of  a  man  towards  himself.  For 
he  is  defined  to  be  a  friend  who  wishes  well  to  another, 
and  performs  things  which  are  really  or  apparently  good 
for  his  sake  ;  or  who  wishes  his  friend  to  exist  and  live 
for  his  sake  ;  just  as  mothers  are  affected  towards?  their 
children,  or  friends  who  [for  a  time,]  are  offended  with 
each  other.  Others,  however,  define  a  friend  to  be  otie 
who  lives  with  another  person,  and  who  chooses  the  same 
things,  or  mutually  grieves  and  rejoices  with  him.  But 
this  also  especially  happens  to  mothers.     By  some  om 


CHAP.  IV. 


ETHICS. 


337 


of  these  particulars,  likewise,  they  define  friendship. 
Each  of  these,  however,  exists  in  the  worthy  man  towards 
himself;  but  they  exist  in  other  men,  so  far  as  they  ap- 
prehend themselves  to  be  worthy.  For  it  seems,  as  we 
have  before  observed,  that  virtue  and  a  worthy  man  are 
a  measure  to  every  one ;  since  a  worthy  man  accords 
\^ith  himself,  and  aspires  after  the  same  things  with  his 
whole  soul,  [i.  e.  with  both  the  rational  and  irrational 
part.]  Hence,  he  wishes  for  himself  both  real  and  appa- 
rent good,  and  acts  conformably  to  his  wishes.  For  it 
is  the  province  of  a  worthy  man  to  labour  in  what  is  good, 
and  this  for  his  own  sake  ;  since  he  labours  for  the  sake 
of  his  dianoetic  part,  which  each  of  us  appears  to  be, 
[i.  e.  in  which  our  very  essence  consists].  He  also  wishes 
that  he  himself  rmy  live  and  be  preserved,  and  especially 
this  part,  by  which  he  is  wise ;  for  to  a  worthy  man 
existence  is  a  good  thing.  Every  one,  however,  wishes 
well  to  himself.  But  there  is  no  one,  who,  if  he  should 
become  a  different  person  from  what  he  is,  would  choose 
[having  lost  his  identity,]  that  the  person  into  whom  he 
is  changed  should  possess  all  things.  For  now  also  God 
possesses  good,  but  he  [^alwai/s']  remains  such  as  he  is, 
whatever  that  mat/  be,  *  It  would  seem,  however,  that 
each  of  us  is  that  which  energizes  intellectually,  or  that 
each  of  us  is  principally  this.     Such  a  man  also  wishes 


^: » 


*  Aristotle  speaks  thus  reverentially  of  the  inefFable  principle 
of  things,  conformably  to  the  practice  of  all  the  great  philosophers 
and  theologists  of  antiquity,  who  for  the  most  part,  as  I  have  shown 
in  my  translation  of  Plato,  pa&sed  over  this  immense  principle  in 
silence,  as  well  knowing  it  is  only  to  be  apprehended  by  extending 
in  silence  the  ineffable  parturitions  of  the  soul,  to  its  ineffable  co- 
sensation.  Hence,  it  was  venerated  by  the  Egyptians,  as  a  thrice 
unknotum  darkness, 

Arist,  VOL.  II.  *  X 


33Q 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IX. 


fore,  [that  when  the  friendship  is  dissolved,]  the  one 
ought  nevertheless  so  to  conduct  himself  tovi^ards  the 
other  as  if  he  had  never  been  his  friend?  Or  is  it  neces- 
sary  that  he  should  still  retain  the  memory  of  their  past 
friendship  ?  And  as  v^^e  think  it  is  proper  to  gratify  friends 
rather  than  strangers,  thus  also  shall  we  say,  something 
must  be  conceded  to  former  friends,  on  account  of  pris- 
tine friendship,  when  the  dissolution  of  it  was  not  occa- 
sioned by  an  excess  of  depravity  ? 


CHAPTER    IV. 


With  respect,  however,  to  friendly  offices,  and  those 
things  by  which  friendships  are  defined,  they  seem  to  pro- 
ceed from  the  conduct  of  a  man  towards  himself.  For 
he  is  defined  to  be  a  friend  who  wishes  well  to  another, 
and  performs  things  which  are  really  or  apparently  good 
for  his  sake  ;  or  who  wishes  his  friend  to  exist  and  live 
for  his  sake  ;  just  as  mothers  are  affected  towards  their 
children,  or  friends  who  [for  a  time,]  are  offended  with 
each  other.  Others,  however,  define  a  friend  to  be  one 
who  lives  with  another  person,  and  who  chooses  the  same 
things,  or  mutually  grieves  and  rejoices  with  him.  But 
this  also  especially  happens  to  mothers.    By  some  om 


CHAP.  IV. 


ETHICS. 


337 


of  these  particulars,  likewise,  they  define  friendship. 
Each  of  these,  however,  exists  in  the  worthy  man  towards 
himself;  but  they  exist  in  other  men,  so  far  as  they  ap- 
prehend themselves  to  be  worthy.  For  it  seems,  as  we 
have  before  observed,  that  virtue  and  a  worthy  man  are 
a  measure  to  every  one ;  since  a  worthy  man  accords 
with  himself,  and  aspires  after  the  same  things  with  his 
whole  soul,  [i.  e.  with  both  the  rational  and  irrational 
part.]  Hence,  he  wishes  for  himself  both  real  and  appa- 
rent good,  and  acts  conformably  to  his  wishes.  For  it 
is  the  province  of  a  worthy  man  to  labour  in  what  is  good, 
and  this  for  his  own  sake  ;  since  he  labours  for  the  sake 
of  his  dianoetic  part,  which  each  of  us  appears  to  be, 
[i.  e.  in  which  our  very  essence  consists].  He  also  wishes 
that  he  himself  mzy  live  and  be  preserved,  and  especially 
this  part,  by  which  he  is  wise ;  for  to  a  worthy  man 
existence  is  a  good  thing.  Every  one,  however,  wishes 
well  to  himself.  But  there  is  no  one,  who,  if  he  should 
become  a  different  person  from  what  he  is,  would  choose 
[having  lost  his  identity,]  that  the  person  into  whom  he 
is  changed  should  possess  all  things.  For  now  also  God 
possesses  good,  but  he  [always]  remains  such  as  he  is, 
whatever  that  may  he,  ^  It  would  seem,  however,  that 
each  of  us  is  that  which  energizes  intellectually,  or  that 
each  of  us  is  principally  this.     Such  a  man  also  wishes 


*  Aristotle  speaks  thus  reverentially  of  the  inefFable  principle 
of  things,  conformably  to  the  practice  of  all  the  great  philosophers 
and  theologists  of  antiquity,  who  for  the  most  part,  as  I  have  shown 
in  my  translation  of  Plato,  passed  over  this  immense  principle  in 
silence,  as  well  knowing  it  is  only  to  be  apprehended  by  extending 
in  silence  the  ineffable  parturitions  of  the  soul,  to  its  ineffable  co- 
sensation.  Hence,  it  was  venerated  by  the  Egyptians,  as  a  thrice 
unknoum  darkness, . 

Arist,  VOL.  II.  X 


t 


338 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IX* 


to  live  with  himself ;  since  he  does  this  willingly.  Fof 
the  remembrance  of  what  he  has  done  is  delightful  16 
him,  and  his  hopes  of  what  is  future  are  good ;  but  such 
things  are  delectable.  He  abounds  likewise  in  his  dianoe- 
tic  part  with  contemplations ;  and  he  is  especially  pained 
and  pleased  in  conjunction  with  himself.  For  the  same 
thing  is  always  painful  and  pleasing  to  him,  and  not  a 
different  thing  at  a  different  time ;  since,  as  I  may  say, 
he  is  without  repentance,  [i.  e.  he  does  nothing  of  which 
he  has  occasion  to  repent]. '     Since,  therefore,  each  of 

«  What  Aristotle  here  says  concerning  the  worthy  man  living 
with  hhnself,  accords  with  what  Plato,  in  the  Timaeus,  asserts  of  the 
soul  of  the  world.    For  among  other  prerogatives  possessed  by  this 
soul,  he  says,    "That  the  demiurgus,  or  its  fabricating  cause,  esta- 
blished the  world  one  single  solitary  nature,  able  through  virtue  to 
associate  with  itself,  indigent  of  nothing  external,   and  sufficiently 
known  and  friendly  to  itself.    And  on  all  these  accounts  he  rendered 
the  universe  a  happy  god.^'    On  which  passage,  Proclus  beautifully 
observes  as  follows ;  «  In  what  is  now  said,  Plato  clearly   shows 
what  the  solitude  is  which  he  ascribes  to  the  world,  and  that  he 
calls  that  being  solitary  which  looks  to  itself,  and  its  own  apparatus, 
and  to  the  proper  measure  of  its  nature.     For  those  who  live  in 
solitude  are  the  saviours  of  themselves,  so  far  as  pertains  to  human 
causes.     The  universe,  therefore,  is  after  this  manner  solitary,  as 
being  sufficient  to,  and  possessing  the  power   of  preserving  itself, 
not  through  any  diminution,  but  through  a  transcendency  of  power. 
He  also  add^,  that  it  is  sufficient  to  itself  through  virtue.  ^  For 
among  partial  animals  [such  as  men,]  he  alone  who  possesses  virtue, 
is  able  to   associate  with,  and  love  himself.     But  every  bad  man 
looking  to  his  inward  baseness,  is  indignant  with  himself,  and  his 
own  essence,  but  is  stupidly  astonished  by  external  things,  and  pur^ 
sues  an  association  with  others,  in  consequence  of  not  being  able 
to  look  into  himself.    The  worthy  man,  however,  perceiving  him- 
self beautiful,  rejoices  and  is  delighted,  and  bringing  forth  in  him- 
self beautiful   conceptions,  embraces  the   converse  with  himself. 
For  we  naturally  become  familiar  with  the  beautiful,  but  turn  awav 
from  deformity.'^  .  ^ 


CHAP.  IV. 


ETHICS. 


S39 


these  things  is  present  with  the  worthy  man  towards  him- 
self, but  he  is  disposed  towards  his  friend  in  the  same 
manner  as  towards  himself;  for  a  friend  is  another  self; 
this  being  the  case,  the  friendship  also  of  these  appears 
to  be  something,  and  those  with  whom  these  things  are 
present  appear  to  be  friends.  At  present,  however,  we 
shall  omit  the  consideratioti  whether  or  not  there  can  be 
friendship  between  a  man  and  himself.  But  it  would 
seem  that  there  may  be  friendship  between  a  man  and 
himself,  when  the  rational  and  irrational  parts  are  no 
longer  two  things  but  one  thing  [through  their  union  and 
consent ;] '  and  also  because  an  excess  of  friendship  re- 
sembles the  regard  which  a  man  has  for  himself.  The 
particulars  likewise  which  we  have  mentioned  are  seen 
to  take  place  among  the  multitude,  though  they  are  de- 
praved characters.  '  Shall  we  say,  therefore,  that  so  far 
as  they  are  pleasing  to  themselves,  and  apprehend  them- 
selves to  be  worthy,  so  far  they  participate  of  these 
things  ?  For  these  things  are  not  inherent,  nor  do  they 
even  appear  to  be  inherent  in  any  one  of  those  who  are 
very  depraved  and  wicked  ;  and  nearly  indeed  they  are 
not  inherent  even  in  those  who  are  merely  depraved. 
For  they  are  discordant  with  themselves  ;  and,  like  the 
incontinent,  they  desire  one  thing,  but  wish  another;  for 
they  choose  delectable  things  which  are  noxious,  instead 
of  those  things  which  appear  to  them  to  be  good. 
Others,  again,  through  timidity  and  indolence  abstain  from 
doing  those  things  which  they  think  are  best  for  them- 
selves. But  those  by  whom  many  and  dreadful  deeds 
are  performed,  and  who  are  hated  on  account  of  then- 


»  I  have  here  adopted  the  reading  mentioned  by  Eustratius,  as 
morfe  conformable  to  the  meaning  of  Aristotle. 


340 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IX. 


depravity,  fly  from  life,  and  destroy  themselves.     De- 
praved men,  likewise,  search  for  those  with  whom  they 
may  pass  their  time,  but  fly  from  themselves ;  for  they 
recollect  when  they  are  alone  the  many  crimes  they  have 
committed,  and  expect  the  evils  which  are  attendant  on 
such  wickedness  will  befal  them ;  but  they  forget  these 
when  they  are  with  others.     Possessing  likewise  nothing 
amiable,  they  are  not  affected  in  a  friendly  manner  to- 
wards themselves.     Persons,  therefore,  of  this  descrip- 
tion, neither  rejoice  nor  condole  with  themselves ;  for 
their  soul  is  in  a  state  of  sedition ;  and  one  part  of  it  in- 
deed  is  pained  on  account  of  depravity,  when  it  abstains 
from  certain  things,  but  the  other  part  is  delighted.    And 
the  one  part  indeed  draws  thisy  but  the  other  that  way, 
the  soul  as  it  were  being  lacerated  [by  sense  and  reason]. 
If,  however,  it  is  not  possible  for  him  to  be  at  one  and 
the  same  time  pained  and  pleased,  yet  after  a  short  time 
he  is  pained  that  he  was  pleased,  and  wishes  that  these 
delectable  things  had  not  befallen  him ;  for  bad  men  are 
full  of  repentance.     The  bad  man,  therefore,  does  not 
appear  to  be  disposed  in  a  friendly  manner  even  towards 
himself,  because  he  possesses  nothing  amiable.     But  if  it 
is  very  miserable  to  be  in  this  condition,  every  one  should 
strenuously  fly  from   depravity,  and  endeavour  to   be 
worthy ;  for  thus  a  man  will  be  disposed  in  a  friendly 
manner  towards  himself,  and  will  become  the  friend  of 
others. 


ltSllte^VJit-'**«»M'"—'---^*"'P-"-  ■'Jg-^— «  J-''»--  ■■•^Ji.J.i- 


CHAP.  V. 


ETHICS. 


341 


CHAPTER  V.,- 


'vi^-- 


J     Benevolence,  however,  resembles  indeed  friendship, 
!yet  is  not  friendship ;  for  benevolence  may  be  exerted 
itowards  unknown  persons,  and  latently  -,  but  friendship 
i  cannot.     These  things,  therefore,   have  been  asserted 
before.     But  neither  is  it  dilection ;  for  it  has  not  either 
impulse  or  appetite ;  and  these  are  consequent  to  dilec 
tion.     And  dilection  indeed  subsists  in  conjunction  with 
custom ;  but  benevolence  may  be  suddenly  produced. 
Thus  the  spectators  sometimes  become  suddenly  bene- 
volent  towards  those  who  contend  for  prizes  at  public 
solemnities,  and  unite  with  them  in  their  wishes  for  suc- 
cess ;  but  they  do  not  at  all  co-operate  with  them.     For, 
as  we  have  said,  they  become  suddenly  benevolent  towards 
^  them,  and  love  them  superficially.     Benevolence,  there, 
fore,  appears  to  be  the  beginning  of  friendship  ;  just  as 
the  pleasure  received  through  the  sight  is  the  begmnmg 
of  love ;  for  no  one  loves  who  has  not  been  previously 
delighted  with  the  form  [of  the  beloved  object.]'    He, 

»  This  observation  of  Aristotle,  that  the  beginning  of  love  is 
through  the  sight,  reminds  me  of  a  very  beautiful  passage  m  the 
romance  of  Achilles  Tatius.  entitled  the  Loves  of  Chtophon  and 
Leucippe,  and  which  I  earnestly  recommend  to  the  attentive  perusal 
of  every  one  who  is  incontinent  in  amatory  concerns.     The  passage 


842 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IX, 


CHAP.  V. 


ETHICS. 


343 


I 


however,  who  is  dehghted  with  this  form,  does  not  love 
the  more  on  that  account,  but  his  love  is  then  more 
ardent,  when  he  longs  for  the  object  of  his  love  when 
absent,  and  desires  her  presence.  Thus,  also,  it  is  im^ 
possible  for  men  to  be  friends,  unless  they  have  been 
first  benevolent.  But  those  who  are  benevolent  [only,] 
do  not  on  this  account  love  each  other  the  more  ;  for 
they  only  wish  well  to  those  to  whom  they  are  benevOf 
lent ;  but  they  do  not  co-operate  with  them  in  any  thing, 


IS  as  follows  :  (lib.  I.)  Ovk  ot^a^  dtov  ttrnv  i^u^in  fcect  fiMTirofiivn  J  ^u^o)M 

r^vriv  ft»j  it  xecTOTTTpai  rut  (rufAotruv  roe,  iioaXx'  i)  oi  rev  KxXXovi  eCTro^^ont  ^* 
tnuTHf  Ui  T>j»  ^^v^nv  xur etf^^iov ITU,,  i^'t  tocs  /t6<|<y  Ev  WTFoo-reta-W  xect  oXiycv 
i<m  mg  rut  o-u^uruv  fAt^iug'  kivvi  yx^  irrt  a-uf^cecruv  o-vfATcXoKift'  c^GuXfio^  yx^ 
(PiXtxg  Tt^olim,  i.  e.  "  Do  you  not  know  that  there  is  a  greater  plea- 
sure in  looking  at,  than  in  embracing  the  beloved  object  ?  For  the 
eyes  when  looking  at  each  other,  express  the  images  of  bodies  a^s 
in  a  mirrour.  l^ut  the  efHux  of  beauty,  flowing  through  the  eyes 
into  the  soul,  has  a  certain  mingling  in  an  apostacy  from  body,  [viz. 
the  beauty  proceeding  from  one  body  through  the  eyes,  is  mingled 
with  the  beauty  proceeding  from  the  other,  separate  from  body]. 
And  the  pleasure  arising  from  the  mingling  of  bodies  is  small ; 
since  the  connexion  of  bodies  is  inane.  For  the  eye  is  the  conciliator 
of  love." 

The  pleasure,  therefore,  arising  from  this  mingling  of  forms 
through  the  eyes  is  greater  than  that  which  is  produced  by  copula- 
tion, because  the  mingling  in  the  former  case  is  in  a  certain  respect 
incorporeal,  being  the  mixture  of  forms  in  the  imagination.  For 
the  imagination  neither  alone  consists  of  parts,  nor  is  without  parts. 
For  if  it  was  partible  alone,  it  could  not  preserve  in  itself  many  im- 
pressions of  forms,  since  the  subsequent  would  obscure  the  pre-cx- 
istent  figures,  for  no  body  can  contain  at  once,  and  according  to  the 
same  situation,  a  multitude  of  figures,  but  the  former  will  be  obli- 
terated by  the  succession  of  the  latter.  And  if  it  was  alone  impar- 
tible, it  would  not  be  inferior  to  the  rational  power  of  the  soul, 
which  surveys  all  things  impartibly. 


nor  do  they  endure  any  molest?tion  for  their  sake.   Hence 
it  may  be  metaphorically  said,  that  benevolence  is  slug- 
gish friendship ;  but  by  length  of  time  and  custom  it  may 
become  friendship,   yet    not   that   friendship  which   is 
founded  in  utility,  nor  that  which  is  founded  in  delight  5 
for  benevolence  does  not  subsist  on  account   of  these 
things.     For,   he  indeed,  who  is  benefited,   distributes 
benevolence  in  return  for  the  favours  he  has  received, 
in  so  doing  acting  justly.     But  he  who  wishes  prosperity 
to  the  actions  of  any  one,  hoping  that  through  him  he 
shall  be  enriched,  does  not  appear  to  be  benevolent  to 
him,  but  rather  to  himself;  as  neither  is  he  a  friend  it 
he  pays  attention  to  him  with  a  view  to  a  certain  advan- 
-tage.     In  short,  benevolence  is  produced  through  virtue, 
and  a  certain  probity,  when  some  one  appears  beautiful, 
or  brave,  or  the  like  to  another  person ;  in  the  same 
manner  as  we  said  it  was  produced  towards  those  whp 
contend  for  prizes  at  public  solemnities. 


344 


THE  NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IX. 


«  « 


CHAPTER  VL 


Concord  likewise  appears  to  pertain  to  friendship  ; 
on  which  account,  it  is  not  an  agreement  in  opinion ;  for 
this  indeed  may  exist  between  those  who  are  ignorant  of 
each  other.  Nor  are  those  said  to  be  concordant  who 
are  unanimous  about  any  thing,  as  about  the  celestial 
bodies ;  for  it  does  not  belong  to  friendship  to  be  con- 
cordant about  these  things.  But  cities  are  said  to  be  con- 
cordant, when  they  are  unanimous  about  things  which 
contribute  to  the  general  good,  and  when  they  deliberately 
choose  the  same  things,  and  do  what  has  been  deemed  in 
common  fit  to  be  done.  Men  are,  therefore,  concordant 
about  practical  affairs,  and  of  these,  about  such  as  sur- 
I  pass  others  in  magnitude,  and  which  may  befal  two  per- 
I  sons  or  all  men.  Thus  cities  are  in  concord  when  it 
'  appears  to  all  the  citizens  that  magistrates  should  be 
elected,  or  that  a  warlike  compact  should  be  formed  with 
the  Lacedemonians,  or  that  Pittacus  should  be  the  archon, 
because  he  also  is  willing  to  accept  this  office.  But  when 
each  of  the  citizens  wishes  to  be  himself  the  archon,  as 
was  the  case  among  the  Phoenicians,  then  they  are  in  a 
state  of  sedition.  For  concord  does  not  consist  in  each 
person  forming  the  same  conception  about  a  thing,  what- 
ever that  thing  may  be,  but  when  they  agree  in  wishing 


CHAP.  VI. 


ETHICS, 


345 


the  same  thing  to  the  same  person ;  as  when  the  people 
and  worthy  men  agree  in  wishing  that  the  most  excellent 
men  may  govern ;  for  thus  all  the  citizens  obtain  what 
jthey  desire.     Concord,  however,  appears  to  be  political 
I  friendship,  as  also  it  is  said  to  be ;  for  it  is  conversant 
with  what  is  advantageous,  and  with  those  things  which 
relate  to  the  purposes  of  life.     But  a  concord  of  this 
kind  exists  among  worthy  men;  for  these  are  in  concord 
with  themselves  and  with  each  other,  since  they  are,  as  I 
may  say,  conversant  with    the  same  things.     For  the 
wishes  of  men  of  this  description  are  permanent,  and  do 
not  undergo  a  flux  and  reflux,  like  the  Euripus.     For 
their  will  is  directed  to  things  just  and  advantageous ; 
and  these  they  desire  in  common.     But  bad  men  cannot 
be  concordant,  except  in  a  small  degree ;  just  as  they 
cannot  likewise  be  friends ;  since  they  desire  in  thmgs 
advantageous  to  have  the  greater  part  themselves,  but  m 
labours  and  ministrant  services  they  are  deficient.    Each, 
however,  wishing  that  these  things  may  befal  himself,  he 
explores  how  he  may  prevent  others  from  obtaining  that 
which  he  desires.     For  concord  perishes  when  justice, 
which  is  a  common  good,  is  not  preserved.     It  happens, 
therefore,  that  they  are  in  a  state  of  sedition,  compelUng 
indeed  each  other,  but  being  themselves  unwilling  to  do 
what  IS  just. 


I 


346 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IX,. 


CHAP.  VH. 


ETHICS. 


347 


CHAPTER  VII. 


Benefactors,  however,  appear  to  love  in  a  greater 
degree   those  whom  they  benefit,  than  those  who  are 
benefited  do  their  benefactors,  and  the  cause  of  this  is 
investigated  as  a  thing  not  conformable  to  reason.     To 
most  men,  therefore,  the  cause  appears  to  be  this,  that 
these  are  debtors,  and  those  the  persons  to  whom  they 
are   indebted.     Hence,  as  in  loans,  debtors  wish  their 
creditors  not  to  be  in  existence,  but  creditors  are  con- 
cerned for  the  safety  of  their  debtors  ;  thus,  also,  bene- 
i  factors  wish  those  whom  they  have  benefited  to  exist,  in 
'  prder  that  they  may  obtain  a  recompense  ;  but  those  who 
I  are  benefited,  are  not  concerned  about  making  a  recom- 
pense.     Epicharmus,  therefore,  perhaps  v/ould  say,  that 
these  things  are  asserted  by  most  men,  in  consequence  of 
looking  to  the '  depravity  of  mankind  ;  but  to  act  in  this 
nmnner  seems  to  be  conformable  to  human  nature.     For 
the  multitude  are  unmindful  of  the  benefits  they  have 
received,  and  are  more  desirous  to  be  benefited  than  to 
*  benefit.     It  would  seem,  however,  that  the  cause  of  this 
is  more  natural,  and  does  not  resemble  that  which  per- 
tains to  the  loan  of  money ;  for  creditors  do  not  love 
their  debtors,  but  wish  them  to  be  preserved,  for  the 
sake  of  receiving  what  they  have  lent.     But  benefactors 


love,  and  are  fond  of  those  they  have  benefited,  though 
at  present  they  derive  no  advantage  from  them,  nor  are 
likely  to  derive  any  in  future.     And  this,  also,  happens 
to  be  the  case  with  artificers  ;  for  every  artist  loves  his 
own  work,   more  than  he  would  be  beloved  by  it,  if  it 
should  become  animated.     Perhaps,  however,  this  par- 
ticularly  happens  to  be  the  case  with  poets ;  for  they 
love  their  own  poems  beyond  measure,   and  have   an 
affection  for   them  as  if  they  were   children.     Similar 
therefore  to   this  is  that  which  pertains  to  benefactors ; 
for  he  who  is  benefited  is  their  work.     Hence,  this  per- 
son is    more  dear  to  them  than  a  work  is  to  him  by 
whom  it  is   produced.     The  cause  however  of  this  is, 
that  existence  is  to  all  beings  eligible  and  lovely ;  but  we 
exist  in  energy  •,  for  we  exist  by  living  and  acting.     He, 
therefore,  who  produces  a  work,  is  in  a  certain  respect  in 
energy  [in  the  work].     Hence,  he  loves  the  work  with 
a  parental  affection,  because  existence  also  is  dear  to  him. 
Put  this  is  natural ;  for  what  the  agent  is  in  capacity,  is 
indicated  by   the  work  in   energy.     At  the  same  time, 
also,  to  the  benefactor,  that  which  results  from  the  ac- 
tion  is   beautiful,  so  that  he  is    delighted  with  him  in 
whom  it  is  inherent ;  but  to  him.  who  is  benefited  nothing 
is  beautiful  in   the  benefactor,  but  if  any  thing  is,  it  is 
utility ;  and  this  is  ifi  a  less  degree  delightful  and  lovely. 
The  energy,  however,  of  present  good  is  delectable,  as  is 
likewise   the  hope  of  future,  and  the  memory  of  past 
good  ;  but  that  good  is  most  delectable,  which  subsists 
in  energy,  and  in  a  similar  manner  that  v/hich  is  lovely. 
To  him  who  benefits,  therefore,  the  work  remains ;  for  a 
beautiful  deed  is  lasting ;  but  to  him  who  is  benefited, 
the  advantage  passes  away.     The  memory,  likewise,  of 
beautiful  deeds  is  delectable  •,  but  the  memory  of  useful 


■\ 


\ 


348 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IX. 


actions,  IS  not  very  delightful,  or  is  so  in  a  less  degree. 
It  appears,  however,  that  the  contrary  takes  place  with 
respect  to  expectation.     And  dilection,  indeed,   resem- 
bles  production;  but  to  be  beloved  is   similar  to  the 
being  passive.     To  love,  therefore,  and  such  things  as 
pertain  to  friendship,  are  consequent  to  those  who  excel 
\in  action.     Again,    all  men  love  in  a   greater  degree 
Ithings  which  are   laboriously  obtained.     Thus,  for  in- 
stance, men  love  the  wealth  which  they  have  themselves 
procured,  more  than  that  which  they  have  received  from 
others.     It  appears,  therefore,  that  to  be  benefited  is  a 
thing  unattended  with  labour ;  but  that  to  benefit  is  la- 
,borious.     On   this  account,   also,   mothers    love  their 
■  children  in  a  greater  degree  than  fathers ;  for  the  part 
which  they  sustain  in  the  generation  of  them  is  more 
laborious  than  that  which  fathers  sustain,  and  they  in  a 
greater  degree  know  that  they  are  their  own  offspring. 
But  it  would  seem  that  this  reasoning  also  is  adapted  to 
benefactors. 


CHAP,  VUT. 


ETHICS. 


S49 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


It  may  however  be  doubted,  whether  a  man  ought  to 
love  himself  more  than  some  other  person.     For  those 
are  reprehended  who  love  themselves  transcendently ; 
and  they  are   called,  as  a  thing  disgraceful,  lovers  of 
themselves.     And  a  bad   man,  indeed,  appears  to  do 
everything  for  the  sake  of  himself,  and  in  a  greater  de- 
gree  the  more  he  is  depraved.     Hence,  he  is  accused  as 
doing  nothing  without  a  view  to  his  own  advantage.    But 
the  worthy   man   does  every  thing  on  account  of  the 
beautiful  in  conduct,  and  he  acts  in  a  greater  degree  m 
this  manner,  and  for  the  sake  of  his  friend,  the  more 
worthy  he  is ;  but  he  neglects  to  act  for  his  own  sake. 
The  deeds  however  of  men  are  discordant  with  these  as- 
sertions  not  unreasonably.     For  they  say  that  he  who  is 
eminently  a  friend,  ought  to  love  his  friend  in  an  eminent 
degree ;  but  he  is  eminently  a  friend  who  wishes  well  to 
him  who  is  the  subject  of  this  wish  for  his  sake,  though 
no  one  should  know  it.     These  things,  however,  are  es- 
pecially inherent  in  a  man  towards  himself,  and  therefore 
every  thing  else  by  which  a  friend  is  defined.     For  we 
have  before  observed  that  all  friendly  offices  proceed 
from  himself,  and  pervade  to  others.     And  all  proverbs 


350 


THE    NIGOMACHEAN 


BOOK  ix:^ 


CHAP.  VIII. 


ETHICS. 


351 


^accord  with  this ;  such  as  that  \^ friends]  are  one  soul ; 
that  among  friends  all  tfnngs  are  common ;  i\\2X  friend- 
ship is  equality  ;  and  that  the  knee  is  near  to  the  leg. 
For  all  these  things  are  especially  present  with  a  man 
'towards  himself;  since  a  man  is  especially  a  friend  to 
himself;  and  therefore  he  is  especially  to  be  beloved  by 
himself. 

It  may,  however,  be  reasonably  doubted,  which  of 
these  arguments  it  is  requisite  to  follow,  since  both  of 
them  are  accompanied  with  probability.  Perhaps,  there- 
fore, it  is  necessary  to  divide  such-like  arguments,  and  to 
distinguish  how  far,  and  in  what  respect  each  of  them  is 
true.  If,  therefore,  we  understand  in  what  manner  each 
of  these  denominates  a  man  a  lover  of  himself,  perhaps 
the  thing  will  become  manifest.  Those,  therefore,  who 
consider  this  as  a  disgraceful  thing,  call  those  men  lovers 
of  themselves,  who  distribute  to  themselves  the  greater 
part,  in  wealth  and  honours,  and  corporeal  pleasures. 
"For  the  multitude  aspire  after  th^se  things,  and  are  ear- 
nestly employed  in  endeavouring  to  acquire  them,  as 
being  the  best  of  things ;  and  on  this  account  they  be- 
come  objects  of  contention.  Hence,  those  who  vindicate 
to  themselves  more  of  these  things  than  is  fit,  are 
subservient  to  desires,  and  in  short  to  passions,  and  the 
irrational  part  of  the  soul.  But  the  multitude  are  per- 
sons  of  this  description.  Hence,  also,  the  appellation 
was  derived  from  the  multitude,  who  are  depraved- 
Justly,  therefore,  are  those  reprehended,  who  are  in  this 
way  lovers  of  themselves.  That  the  multitude,  however, 
are  accustomed  to  denominate  those  who  distribute  tc^ 
themselves  things  of  this  kind,  lovers  of  themselves,  is 
not  immanifest.     For   he  who  always  earnestly  endea-  ^ 


voufs  to  act  justly,  or  temperately,  or  to  act  according  to 
any  other  of  the  virtues,  the  most  of  all  things,  and  m 
short,   who   always  vindicates  to  himself  that  which  is 
beautiful  in  conduct ;— such  a  man  will  never  be  called  by 
any  one  a  lover  of  himself,  nor  will  he  be  blamed  by  any 
one;     It  would  seem,  however,  that  such  a  man  as  this^ 
is  in  a  greater  degree  a  lover  of  himself;  for  he  distri- 
butes  to  himself  things  which  are  most  eminently  beau^ 
tiful  and  good,  is  gratified  in  his  most  principal  part  [in- 
tellect,] and  in  all  things  is  obedient  to  it.     But  as  that 
which  is  the  most  principal  thing  in  a  city,  appears  to  be 
most  eminently  the  city,   and  this  is  the  case  in  every 
other  system  of  things ;  thus,  also,  that  whkh  is  most 
principal  in  man  is  especially  the  man.     He,  therefore, 
who  loves  this  principal  part  of  himself,  is  especially  a 
lover  of  himself,  and  is  gratified  with  this.     Hence,  also, 
one  man  is  denominated  continent,  and  another  inconti- 
nent, because  in  the  foFmer  intellect  has  dominion,  but 
has  not  in  the  latter,  in  consequence  of  every  man  being 
this,  [i.  e.  intellect].      Men,   likewise,   appear  to^  have 
performed  things,  and  to  have  performed  them  wiUingly, 
which  they  have  especially  performed  in  conjunction  with 
reason.     That  every  man,  therefore,  is  principally  intel- 
lect,  and  that  the  worthy  man  principally  loves  this,  is 
not'  immanifest.     Hence,  he  will  be  especially  a  lover  of 
himself,  according  to  a  different  species  of  self-love  from 
that  which  is  disgraceful,  and  differing  as  much  from  it 
as  to  live  according  to  reason  differs  from  living  accord- 
ing to  passion,  and  as  much  as  the  desire  of  that  which 
is  beautiful  in  conduct,    differs  from  the  desire  of  that 
which  appears  to  be  advantageous.     All  men,  therefore, 
approve  of  and  applaud  those  who  in  a  manner  superior 
\  to  others  endeavour  to  perform  beautiful  actions.    But 


u^ii^^^^^i^iAAta^^^ttriiliii 


rA.jia»s..>.j^. 


S52 


THE  N1C0MACH£AN 


BOOK  IX. 


if  that  which  is  really  beautiful  in  conduct  was  that  for 
which  all  men  contended,  and   if  they  endeavoured  to 
perform  the  most  beautiful  deeds,  whatever  is  becoming 
would  be  possessed  by  all  men  in  common,   and  the 
greatest  of  goods  by  every  one  particularly ;  since  virtue 
is  a   thing  of  this  kind.     Hence,  it  is  necessary  that  a 
good  man  should  be  a  lover  of  himself;  for  he  himself 
is  benefited  by  acting  well,  and  he  also  benefits  others. 
I  But  it  is  not  proper  that  a  depraved  man  should  be  a 
lover  of  himself ;  for  he  will  hurt  both  himself  and  his 
neighbours,  in  consequence  of  being  subservient  to  base 
passions.     With  the  depraved  man,  therefore,  there  is  a 
dissonance  between  what  he  ought  to  do,  and  what  he 
does ;  but  with  tfie  worthy  man^  those  things  which  he 
ought  to  do^  he  also  does.     For  every  intellect  chooses 
that  which  is  best  for  itself;  and  the  worthy  man  is  obe- 
dient to   intellect.     That,  however,  which  is  asserted  of 
the  worthy  man  is  true,  that  for  the  sake  of  his  friends 
and  his  country,  he  will  do  many  things,  even  though  it 
should  be  requisite  to  die  for  them ;  for  he  will  give  up 
riches  and  honours,  and  in  short  those  goods  which  are 
the  objects  of  contention  vnth  mankind,  in  order  that  he 
may  vindicate  to  himself  that  which  is  beautiful  in  con- 
duct.     For  he  will  rather  choose  to  be  very  much  de- 
lighted for    a  short  time,   than  to  experience  a  small 
delight  for  a  long  time,  and  to  live  worthily  for  one  year, 
than  casually  for  many  years.     He  will  also  prefer  one 
beautiful  and  great  action,  to  many  and  small  actions. 
And  this  perhaps  happened  to  be  the  case  with  those  who 
have  died  [for  their  country,  or  their  friends].     Worthy 
men,  therefore,  choose  a  great  good  for  themselves ;  and 
will  give  up  their  riches  in  order  that  they  may  obtain  a 
greater  number  of  friends.    For  thus,  indeed,  riches  befal 


CHAP.  VIII. 


ETHICS. 


353 


the  friend  of  the  worthy  man,  but  that  which  is  really 
beautiful  befals  the  worthy  man  himself;  but  he  distri- 
butes to  himself  the  greater  good.  There  is  also  the 
same  mode  of  conduct  with  him  as  to  honours  and  do- 
minion ;  for  he  will  give  up  all  these  to  his  friend ;  for 
this  to  him  is  beautiful  and  laudable.  Reasonably,  there- 
fore,  does  he  appear  to  be  a  worthy  man,  who  chooses 
that  which  is  beautiful  in  conduct  instead  of  these  things. 
It  may  likewise  happen,  that  he  may  give  up  actions  to 
his  friend,  and  that  it  may  be  better  for  him  to  be  the 
cause  of  their  being  performed  by  his  friend,  than  to  do 
them  himself.  Hence,  in  all  laudable  things,  the  worthy 
man  appears  to  distribute  to  himself  more  of  that  which 
is  truly  beautiful.  After  this  manner,  therefore,  as  we 
have  said,  it  is  necessary  that  a  man  should  be  a  lover  of 
himself,  but  it  is  not  proper  he  should  be  so  in  the  way 
in  which  the  multitude  love  themselves. 


Arist. 


VOL.  H. 


354, 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IX. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

With  respect  to  the  happy  man,  also,  it  is  doubted, 
whether  he  will  be  in  want  of  friends  or  not.     For  it  is 
said,  that  those  who  are  blessed  and  sufficient  to  them- 
,  selves   have  no  need  of  friends ;  because  things  ttuly 
Lood   are  present  with  them.     As  they  are,  therefore, 
Ly  they)  sufficient  to  themselves,  they  are  not  m  want 
of  any  thing ;  but  a  friend  being  a  man's  other  self,  im- 
parts  to  him  those  things  which  he  cannot  obtain  through 
himself.     Whence,   also,  it  is  said,  «  When  divinity  is 
propitious,  what  need  is  there  of  friends  ?"     It  seems, 
,  however,    to  be  absurd  that  those  who  attnbute  every 
\  good  to  the  happy  man,   should  not  give  him  fne^  . 
I  which  appear  to  be  the  greatest  of  external  goods.     But 
'  if  it  is  the  province  of  a  friend  rather  to  benefit  than  to  be 
benefited,  and  if  it  is  also  the  province  of  a  good  man 
and  of  virtue  to  benefit,  and  it  is  better  to  do  good  to 
friends  than  to  strangers,  the  worthy  man  will  want  those 
^vho   may  be  benefited  by  him.     Hence,  likewise,  it  is 
inquired,  whether  there  is  more  need  of  friends  in  adver- 
shy  tha;  in  prosperity ;  because  he  who  is  unfortunate 
is  in  want  of  those  by  whom  he  may  be  benefited  and 
the  fortunate  are  in  want  of  those  whom  they  may  bene- 
fit.    Perhaps,  however,  it   is  also   absurd- to  make  the 
blessed  man  a  solitary  being  j  for  no  one  would  choose. 


CHAP.  IX< 


ETHICS. 


355 


to  possess  every  good  by  himself;  since  man  is  a  social 

/animal,   and  is  naturally  adapted  to   live  with  others. 

I  This,  therefore,  will   also   be  the  case  with  the   happy 
man ;  for  he  possesses  those  things  which   are  naturally 

I  good.     But  it  is  evident,  that  it  is  better  to  pass  the  time 
^  i  with  friends  and  worthy  men,  than  with  strangers  and 

^casual  persons.  Hence,  the  happy  man  has  need  of 
friends.  In  what  respect,  therefore,  is  the  first  assertion 
true  [that  the  happy  man  is  not  in  want  of  friends?]  Is  it 
because  the  multitude  think  those  persons  to  be  friends 
who  are  useful  to  them  ?  The  blessed  man,  therefore, 
will  not  be  in  any  want  of  such  persons,  since  real  good 
is  present  with  him.  Neither,  therefore,  will  he  be  in 
want  of  those  who  are  friends  on  account  of  the  delecta- 
ble, or  he  will  want  them  but  for  a  short  time ;  for  since 
his  life  is  delightful,  he  will  be  in  no  want  of  adventitious 
pleasure.  But  not  being  in  want  of  friends  of  this  de- 
scription, he  does  not  appear  to  be  in  want  of  friends. 

This,  however,  perhaps  is  not  true.  For  it  was  ob- 
/  served  by  us  in  the  beginning,  that  felicity  is  a  certain 
1  energy  ;  but  with  respect  to  energy,  it  is  evident  that  it 
is  in  generation,  or  is  passing  into  existence,*  and  is  not 
present  with  him  who  energizes,  like  a  certain  possession. 
But  if  to  be  happy  consists  in  living  and  energizing,  and 
the  energy  of  the  good  man  is  of  itself  worthy  and  de- 
lectable, as  we  observed  in  the  beginning ;  if  also  that 
which  is  appropriate  ranks  among  the  number  of  things 
that  are  delightful,  but  we  are  more  able  to  survey  our 


/ 


•  yMxat.  This  word  both  with  Aristotle  and  Plato  signifies  an 
extension  of  subsistence,  and  not  mere  existence,  like  tbe  words 
TO  iiViitf  and  ro  «y. 


356 


THE  NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IX. 


/ 


neighbours  than  ourselves,  and  their  actions  than  our 
own ;  and  if  the  actions  of  worthy  men  that  are  friends, 
are  delightful  to  good  men,  (for  both  have  those  things 
which  are  naturally  delectable) — if  this  be  the  case,  the 
blessed  man  will  be  in  want  of  such  friends  as  these, 
since  he  deliberately  chooses  to  survey  worthy  and  ap- 
propriate actions.  But  the  actions  of  a  good  man  who 
lis  a  friend  are  of  this  description.  It  is  likewise  thought 
to  be  necessary,  that  the  happy  man  should  live  delect- 
ably.  The  life^  therefore,  of  a  solitary  man  is  indeed  dif- 
ficult ;  for  it  is  not  easy  for  a  man  to  energize  continually 
by  himself,  but  with  others,  and  towards  others  it  is  easy. 
>  The  energy,  therefore,  will  be  more  continued  which  is 
i  delectable  by  itself;  which  should  necessarily  be  present 
with  the  blessed  man.  For  the  worthy  man,  so  far  as  he 
is  worthy,  rejoices  in  the  actions  which  are  conformable 
to  virtue,  but  is  indignant  with  those  which  proceed  from 
vice  ;  just  as  a  musician  is  delighted  with  beautiful  melo- 
dies, but  is  pained  with  those  that  are  bad.  A  certain  ex- 
ercise of  virtue  likewise  will  be  produced  from  living 
with  good  men,  as  also  Theognis  says.  To  those,  how- 
ever, who  consider  this  affair  more  physically,  it  appears 
that  a  worthy  friend  is  naturally  eligible  to  a  worthy 
man  ;  for  it  has  been  said  by  us,  that  what  is  naturally 
good,  is  of  itself  to  a  worthy  man  good  and  delectable. 
I  To  live,  however,  is  in  animals  defined  by  the  power  of 
i  sense,  but  in  men  by  the  power  of  sense  or  intellection. 
But  power  is  referred  to  energy  ;  and  that  which  has  the 
principal  authority  in  a  thing  consists  in  energy.  It 
seems,  therefore,  that  to  live  is  properly  either  to  perceive 
sensibly,  or  intellectually ;  and  to  live  is  among  the  num- 
ber of  things  which  are  good  and  delectable ;  for  it  is  a 
definite  thing.     But  that  which  is  definite  pertains  to  the 


CHAP.  IX. 


ETHICS. 


3,57 


nature  of  the  good,  [as  it  also  appeared  to  the  Pythago- 
reans ;]  and  that  which  is  naturally  good,  is  also  good  to 
the  worthy  man.     Hence  to  live  appears  to  all  men  to  be 
delightful.     A   depraved  and   corrupted  life,    however, 
ought  not  to  be  assumed,  nor  a  life  of  pain ;  for  such  a 
life  is  indefinite,  as  well  as  the  things  which  belong  to  it. 
This^  however,  will  be  more  evident  in  what  we  shall 
say  concerning  pain  hereafter.     But   if  to   live  is  itself 
good,  it  is  also  delectable.     And   it  appears  that  it  is  so 
from  this,  that  all  men  aspire  after  it,  and  especially  wor- 
thy  and  blessed  men ;  for  to  these  life  is  most  eligible,  and 
the  life  of  these  is  most  blessed.  He,  however,  who  sees, 
perceives   that  he  sees,   he  who  hears,  perceives  that  he 
hears,  and  he  who  walks,  perceives  that  he  walks ;  and  in 
I  a  similar  manner  in  other  things  there  is  something  which 
perceives  that  we  energize.     But  we  may  perceive  that 
we  perceive,  and  we  may  understand  that  we   under- 
stand.    For  us,  however,  to  perceive  that  we  perceive,  or 
to  understand  that  we  understand,  is  for  us  to  be  ;  for  we 
have  said  that  our  very  being  consists  in  perceiving  sen- 
sibly or  intellectually.     But  for  a  man  to  perceive  that  he 
lives,  is  among  the  number  of  things  essentially  delecta- 
ble; for  life  is  naturally  good.     And  for  a  man  to  per- 
ceive that  good  is  present  with  him  is  delightful.     But 
to  live  is  eligible,  and  especially  to  good   men,  because 
existence  to  them  is  good  and  delectable;  for,  having  a 
co-sensation  of  essential  good,  they  are  delighted.     As 
however,  the  worthy  man  is  disposed   towards  himself' 
thus  also  he  is  disposed  towards  his  friend ;  for  a  friend  is 
another  self.     As,  therefore,   it  is  eligible  to  every  one 
for  himself  to  exist,  thus  also  or  similariy  it  is  eligible  to 
him  for  his  friend  to  exist.     But  we  have  said,  that  ex- 
istence  is  eligible,  because  it  is  for  a  man  to  perceive 


S58 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IX. 


himself,  which  is  good  ;  and  a  sensation  of  this  kind  is 
of  itself  delightful.  It  is  necessary,  therefore,  that  he 
should  at  the  same  time  perceive  that  his  friend  exists  ; 
but  this  will  be  effected  by  living  together  with  him,  and 
in  a  communication  with  him  of  words  and  thoughts,  for 
it  would  seem  that  in  this  way  men  are  said  to  live  toge- 
ther, and  not  as  cattle,  by  feeding  in  the  same  place.  If, 
therefore,  existence  is  of  itself  eligible  to  the  blessed 
man,  since  it  is  naturally  good  and  delectable,  the  like 
also  must  be  asserted  of  a  friend ;  and  hence  a  friend 
will  be  among  the  number  of  eligible  things  to  the  happy 
man.  But  that  which  is  eligible  to  him,  ought  to  be  pre- 
ent  with  him ;  or  in  this  respect  he  will  be  indigent. 


pThe  man,  therefore,  who  is  to  be  happy  will  require 
jworthy  friends. 


CHAPTER   X. 


Are  numerous  friends,  therefore,  to  be  procured  ?  or, 
as  it  appears  to  be  elegantly  said  of  hospitality, 

Want  not,  nor  be  of  multitudes  a  guest ; 

may  it  also  in  friendship  be  appropriately  said,  that  a  man 
should  neither  be  without  a  friend,  nor  again  should  have 


it<aaiiBli&KilBtfeM>MN8afiaiife^  ?.g*iBW»WMa*8r!5 


CHAP.  X. 


ETHICS. 


3,59 


an  excessive  multitude  of  friends  ?  This  assertion  there- 
fore, will  indeed  appear  to  be  very  much  adapted  to 
those  who  regard  utility  in  friendship ;  for  to  be  alter- 
nately subservient  to  many  persons  is  laborious,  and  life 
[is  not  sufficient  to  them  to  perform  this.  Hence,  more 
j friends  than  are  sufficient  for  the  proper  purposes  of  life, 
lare  superfluous,  and  are  impediments  to  a  worthy  life. 
JHence  there  is  no  need  of  them.  And  with  respect  to 
the  friends  that  are  procured  for  the  sake  of  pleasure,  a 
very  few  are  sufficient ;  in  the  same  manner  as  sauce  to 
food.  But  whether  or  not  ought  a  good  man  to  have 
many  worthy  friends  ?  Or  shall  we  say  that  there  is  a 
certain  measure  of  a  multitude  of  friends,  in  the  same 
manner  as  there  is  of  a  city  ?  For  a  city  will  not  consist 
of  ten  men,  nor  is  it  any  longer  a  city  if  it  is  composed 
of  a  hundred  thousand  men,'  Perhaps,  however,  one 
certain  number  of  citizens  cannot  be  assigned,  but  every 
number  may  be  admitted  which  is  between  certain  defi- 
nite terms.  Of  friends,  therefore,  there  is  also  a  certain 
definite  multitude  ;  and  perhaps  those  persons  are  not 
numerous  *  with  whom  it  is  possible  for  a  man  to  live ; 
for  this  appears  to  be  a  thing  of  a  most  friendly  nature. 


'  For  in  a  city  consisting  of  a  hundred  thousand  persons,  the  ci- 
tizens cannot  be  known  to  each  other,  and  therefore  it  will  not  be 
so  much  a  city  as  a  region.  Besides  in  a  city  properly  so  called, 
there  must  be  orderly  and  good  government :  but  it  is  impossible  in 
a  community  of  a  hundred  thousand  men,  for  the  governors  to  know 
the  way  in  which  every  man  lives,  though  this  is  essentially  neces- 
sary to  good  government.  Hence,  in  London,  which  is  said  to 
consist  of  a  million  of  inhabitants,  it  is  well  known  that  twenty  or 
thirty  thousand  persons  rise  every  morning,  without  knowing  how 
they  shall  subsist  through  the  day. 

*  In  the  original, «« TrXurroi ;  but  it  should  evidently  be  «o  nXurr^i, 


360 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IX* 


But  that  It  IS  not  possible  for  a  man  to  live  with  many, 
and  distribute  himself  among  them,  is  not   immanifest. 
Farther  still,  it  is  necessary  [if  the  friends  are  numerous] 
that  they  should  be  friends  to  each  other,  if  all  of  them 
intend  to  pass  the  time  with  each  other  ;  but  this  among 
many  friends  is  laborious.     It  is  likewise  difficult  to  re- 
joice and  grieve  appropriately  together  with  many  per- 
sons ;  for  it  is  probable  that  it  may  at  one  and  the  same 
time  happen,  that  a  man  ought  to  rejoice  together  with 
<one  person,  and  grieve  together  with  another.     Perhaps, 
^therefore,   it  is   well  not  to  endeavour  to  have  a  great 
number  of  friends,  but  as  many  as  are  sufficient  for  the 
purposes  of  social  life  ;  fqr  it  would  seem  that  it  is  not 
possible  to  be  very  much   a    friend    to    many  persons. 
Hence,  neither  is  it  possible  to  love  many ;  for  love  is  a 
certain  excess  of  friendship.     But  this  is  confined  to  one 
person  ;  and,  therefore,  vehement  love  must  be  confined 
to  a  few.     That  this,  indeed,  is  the  case,  seems  to  be  ve- 
rified by  themselves.     For  there  are  not   many  friends 
according  to  that  friendship  which   subsists  among  asso- 
ciates;  but   the  friendships   which   are    celebrated,   are 
said  to  have  subsisted   between   two  persons.     Those, 
however,  who  are  the  friends  of  many  persons,  and  are 
familiarly  conversant  with  all  of  them,   appear  to  be  the 
friends  of  no  one,  except  politically,   and  these  persons 
are  also  called  obsequious.     It  is  possible,  therefore,  to 
be  politically  a  friend  to  many  persons,  though  he  who 
is  so  should  happen  not  to  be  obsequious,  but  a  truly 
worthy  man ;  but  it  is  not  possible   to  be  a  friend  to 
many,  on  account  of  virtue,  and  for  their  own  sake.  But 
we  must  be  satisfied  if  we  can  find  a  few  such,  [i.  e.  who 
are  true  friends]. 


CHAP.  XT. 


ETHICS. 


361 


CHAPTER  XL 


But  whether  is  there  more  need  of  friends  in  prospe- 
rity, or  in  adversity  ?  For  in  both  they  are  sought  zJter. 
For  those  who  are  in  adversity  require  assistance,  and  those 
who  are  in  prosperity  are  in  want  of  associates,  and  those 
whom  they  may  benefit;  since  they  wish  to  confer  favours 
on  others.  In  adversity,  therefore,  friends  are  more  neces- 
sary ;  on  which  account,  when  this  is  the  case,  there  is 
need  of  useful  friends.  In  prosperity,  however,  friends 
are  a  more  worthy  and  beautiful  possession  ;  on  which  ac- 
count, also,  men  whose  circumstances  are  prosperous, 
search  for  worthy  friends  ;  for  it  is  more  eligible  to  bene- 
fit these,  and  with  these  to  pass  through  life.  For  the  pre- 
sence itself  of  friends  is  delightful  both  in  prosperity 
and  adversity ;  since  the  grief  of  those  who  are  in  sif- 
fliction  is  lightened  when  their  friends  participate  of  their 
sorrow.  Hence,  likewise,  it  may  be  doubted  whether 
friends  share  a  part  of  the  affliction  of  their  friends,  as  if 
it  were  part  of  a  burden.  Or  is  this  not  the  case ;  but 
the  presence  of  friends  being  delightful,  the  conception 
that  they  participate  of  the  sorrow,  produces  a  diminu- 
tion of  the  grief  ?    Whether,  therefore,   those  who  are 


•» 


362 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IX. 


CHAP.  XI, 


ETHICS. 


363 


in  affliction  are    alleviated    through   these  causes,   or 
through  some  other  cause,  we  shall  omit  to  investigate. 
What  we  have  mentioned,  however,  appears  to  happen. 
But   the  presence  of  friends  appears  to  be   something 
mixed  ;  for  the  sight  itself  of  friends  is  delectable,  and 
especially  to  those  in  adverse  circumstances,  and  it  be- 
comes a  certain  auxiliary  against  affliction.     For  a  friend 
possesses  a  consoling  power,  both  in  his  presence  and  his 
words,  if  he  is  dexterous ;  since  he  knows  the  manners 
of  his  friend,  and  with  what  he  is  pleased  and   pained. 
It  is   painful,   however,  to  perceive  that  our  friend  is 
.  afflicted   by  our   misfortunes  ;     for  every   one   avoids 
being  the  cause  of  pain  to   his  friends.     Hence  those 
who  are  of  a  virile  nature  are  careful  to  prevent   their 
friends   from  being  afflicted  in  conjunction  with  them- 
selves;  unless   they  perceive  that  by   subjecting   their 
friends  to  a  little  pain,  they  shall  themselves  experience 
an  alleviation  of  great  affliction.     And,   in   short,  they 
do  not  permit  others  to  lament  with  them,  because  they 
are  not  themselves  addicted  to  lamentation.     But  women 
who  are  weaker  than  the  rest  of  their  sex,  (yuvaia),  and 
men  who  resemble  them,  are  delighted    with  those  who 
groan  with  them,  and  love  them  as  their  friends,  and  the 
associates  of  their  sorrow.     In  all  things,  however,  it  is 
necessary  to  imitate  the  better  character.     But  the  pre- 
sence of  friends  in  prosperity  is  attended  with  a  pleasing 
association,  and   with  the  conception  that  they  are  de- 
lighted with  our  good  fortune.     Hence,  it  would  seem  to 
be  necessary,  that  in  prosperity  we  should  readily  and 
cheerfully  invite  our  friends  to  partake  of  our  good  for^ 
tune ;  for  it  is  beautiful  to  be  beneficent,  but  that  we 
should  be  remiss  in  inviting  them  to  partake  of  our  ill 


fortune.     For  it  is  requisite  to  impart  to  our  friends  as 
little  as  possible  of  evils.     Whence  it  is  said. 

That  I  am  wretched,  is  sufficient. " 

But  friends  are  then  especially  to  be  called  upon,  when 
having  received  small  molestations,  we  can  be  greatly  be- 
!  nefited  by  their  presence.     On  the  contrary,  it  is  per- 
I  haps  proper  to  go  to  those  who  are  in  adversity  uncalled 
i  and  cheerfully.     For  it  is  the  province  of  a  friend  to  be- 
■  nefit,  and  especially  to  benefit  those  who  are  in  want, 
and  who  do  not  think  fit  to  solicit  relief;  for  this  is 
better  and  more  delectable  to   both.     With  fortunate 
friends,  however,  we  should  cheerfully  co-operate ;  for 
in  prosperity  also  there  is  need  of  a  friend.     But  we 
should  slowly  betake  ourselves  to  a  friend,  in  order  to  be 
benefited  by  him  ;  for  it  is  not  beautiful  to  be  readily 
and  cheerfully  disposed  to  be  benefited.     It  is  perhaps, 
however,  requisite  to  be  cautious  that  we  do  not  conduct 
ourselves  unpleasantly,  in  rejecting  the   beneficence  of 
our  friends  ;  for  this  sometimes  happens  to  be  eligible  in 
,all  things. 

*  Earip.  in  Oreste. 


ii4jatetoihsSji«»>>*.-».A^  ^■.j^^^^j^iit^^ 


364 


tHE  NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  IX. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


Whether,  therefore,  as  to  lovers  the  sight  of  the 
beloved  object  is  most  delectable,  and  they  prefer  this 
sense  to  the  rest,  because  love  especially  subsists  and  is 
produced  from  this,  thus  also,  it  is  most  eligible  to  friends 
to  live  together?     For  friendship  is  communion.    And 
m  the  same  manner  as  a  man  is  affected  towards  himself 
he  is  also  affected  towards  his  friend.     But  it  is  eligible  to' 
every  one  to  perceive  with  respect  to  himself,  [that  he 
exists  and  lives ;]  and,  therefore,  this  is  also  eligible  with 
respect  to  a  friend.     This  energy,    however,  is  effected 
among  fnends  by  living  together ;  so  that  this  is  reason- 
ably desired  by  them.     And  that  in  which  to  every  one 
his  very  being  consists,  or   for   the  sake  of  which  he 
chooses  to  live,  in  this  he  wishes  to  pass  his  life  with  his 
friends.     Hence  some   friends   indeed   drink   together, 
others  play  at  dice  together,  others  engage  in  gymnastic 
exercises  and  hunt  together,  or  philosophize   together. 
But  they  severally  pass  their  time  together,   in  that  to 
which  of  all  things  in  life  they  are  most  attached.     For 
wishing  to  live  with  their  friends,  they  do  these  things, 
and  communicate  with  them  in  these,  through  which  they 
re  of  opinion  they  associate  together.     The  friendship. 


CHAP.  xn. 


ETHICS. 


365 


•  9^ 


^therefore,  of  bad  men  is  depraved ;  for  being  unstable, 
"HnETiey  communicate  with  each  other  in  bad  things ;  and 
^'they  become  depraved,  being  assimilated  to  each  other. 
?  But  the  friendship  of  worthy  men  is  worthy,  and  is  mu- 
tually increased  by  mutual  converse.     They  also  appear 
to  become  better  by  energizing  with  and  correcting  each 
other.     For   they   mutually  express  those  things   with 
which  they  are  delighted  ;  whence  it  is  said, 


1 


From  good  men  what  is  good  is  learnt.  ' 


And  thus   much  concerning  friendship.     It  remains  to 
discuss,  in  the  next  place,  pleasure. 

'  Theognis,  v.  85. 


THE 


NICOMACHEAN    ETHICS. 


BOOK    X.     \ 


Ptt^ 


tV 


CHAPTER  I. 


'«.* 


After  these  things  perhaps  it  follows  that  we  should 
discuss  pleasure;"  for  this  appears  to  be  especially  fami- 
liar and  allied  to  our  race.  Hence  those  who  educate 
youth  regulate  them  by  pleasure  and  pain,  as  by  a  rud- 

«  Aristotle  in  the  7th  book  considered  pleasure  so  far  as  it  is  the 
matter  of  continence ;  but  in  this  book  he  considers  it  so  far  as  it  is 
the  companion  of  felicity.  Hence  it  appears  that  those  critics  were 
egregiously  mistaken,  who  fancied  that  what  is  said  concerning  plea- 
sure near  the  end  of  the  7th  book  is  spurious.  But  such  mistakes 
witli  mere  verbalists,  are  by  no  means  wonderful. 


** 


368 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  X. 


w 

4 


der.     But  It  appears  to  be  a  thing  of  the  greatest  conse- 
quence with  respect  to  the  virtue  of  manners  to  rejoice  m 
those  things  in  which  it  is  proper  to  rejoice,  and  to  hate 
those  things  which  it  is  proper  to  hate.     For  these  things 
extend  through  the  whole  of  life,  and  have  a  prepondera- 
tion  and  power  towards  virtue,  and  a  happy  life ;  since 
things  which  are  delectable,  are  indeed  the  objects  of  de- 
liberate  choice,  but  those  that  are  painful  are  avoided.   It 
seems,  however,  that  things  of  this  kind  are  by  no  means 
to  be  passed  over  in  silence,  especially  since  they  possess 
an  abundant  ambiguity.    For  some,  indeed,  say  that  good 
;  Itself  is  pleasure,  but  others  on  the  contrary  assert  that 
pleasure  is  a  very  bad  thing  ;  the  former,  indeed,  being 
perhaps  persuaded  that  it  is  so ;  but  the  latter  thinkbg 
that  It  will  be  more  beneficial  to  our  life,  to  evince  that 
pleasure  ranks  among  bad  things,  even  though  it  should 
\  not.     For  the  multitude  tend  to  it,  and  are  subservient  to 
i-pleasures.     Hence,  say  they,  it  is  necessary  to  lead  them 
^jo  the  pursuit  of  the  contrary  to  pleasure  ;  for  thus  they 
may  arrive  at  the  medium.    Perhaps,  however,  this  is  not 
well  said.     For  words  respecting  things  which  pertain  to 
passions  and  actions,  are  less  credible  than  deeds.  When, 
therefore,  they  are  discordant  with  the   perceptions   of 
sense,  being  despised  they  also  subvert  the  truth.     For 
he  who  blames  pleasure,  if  he  is  at  any  time  seen  to  de- 
-  are  it,  seems  to  incline  towards  it,  as  if  every  pleasure 
was  of  this  attractive  nature ;  for  to  distinguish  [one 
^pleasure  from  another,]  is  not  the  province  of  the  multi- 
tude.     True  assertions,  therefore,  appear  not  only  to  be 
most  useful  with  respect  to  knowledge,   but  also  with 
respect  to  life ;  for  they  are  believed  when  they  accord 
with  deeds.     Hence  they  exhort  those  who  understand 
them  to  live  conformably  to  them.  '  Of  things  of  this 


CHAP.  II. 


ETHICS. 


369 


Idnd,  therefore,  thus  much  may  suffice.    Let  us  now  dis- 
cuss  the  assertions  of  others  concerning  pleasure. 


CHAPTER    II. 


EuDoxus,  therefore,  thought  that  pleasure  was  good 
itself,  because  all  animals  are  seen  to  desire  if,  both  such 
as  are  rational  and  such  as  are  irrational.  But  in  all 
things  the  eligible  is  good,  and  that  which  is  especially 
eligible  is  the  best  of  things.  And  because  all  things 
tend  to  the  same  thing,  it  is  an  indication  that  the  object 
to  which  they  tend,  is  to  all  things  that  which  is  most 
excellent.  For  every  thing  discovers  that  which  is  good 
^o  It,  m  the  same  manner  as  it  discovers  nutriment. 
Hence  that  which  is  good  to  all  things,  and  which  all 
things  desire,  is  good  itself.  These  arguments,  however, 
are  rendered  credible,  more  through  the  virtuous  man- 
ners of  their  author  than  through  themselves ;  for  it 
appears  that  he  was  a  remarkably  temperate  man.  It 
does  not  seem,  therefore,  that  he  made  these  assertions 
as  the  friend  of  pleasure,  but  because  he  believed  them 
to  be  true.  It  likewise  appeared  to  him  to  be  no  less 
evident  that  pleasure  is  good  itself,  from  the  contrary. 
For  pain  is  of  itself  avoided  by  all  animals ;  and  in  a 
similar  manner,  the  contrary  to  pain  is  eligible  to  all 
Arisf.  VOL.  n.  z 


370 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  X. 


animals.  But  that  is  especially  eligible,  which  w& 
choose  not  on  account  of  something  else,  nor  for  the 
sake  of  another  thing.  It  is,  however,  acknowledged  that 
pleasure  is  a  thing  of  this  kind  ;  for  no  one  asks  another 
person  what  the  final  cause  is  why  he  is  delighted  ?  as  if 
pleasure  were  a  thing  eligible  of  itself,  and  which  renders 
the  good  to  which  it  is  added  more  eligible ;  such,  for 
instance,  as  to  act  justly  and  temperately.  The  good, 
therefore,  is  itself  increased  by  itself.  This  argument, 
^  therefore,  evinces  that  pleasure  ranks  among  the  number 
;  of  goods,  and  that  it  is  not  more  good  than  another 
good.  For  every  good  in  conjunction  with  another 
good,  is  more  eligible  than  when  it  is  alone.  Plato  also 
subverts  an  argument  of  this  kind,  that  pleasure  is  not 
good  itself;  for  he  says  that  a  delectable  life,  in  con- 
junction with  wisdom,  is  more  eligible  than  without  it. 
But  if  the  mixed  life  is  better  [than  a  life  of  pleasure 
alone,]  pleasure  will  not  be  good  itself;  for  good  itself 
will  not  become  more  eligible  by  any  thing  being  added 
to  it.  It  is  evident,  however,  that  neither  will  any  thing 
else  be  good  itself,  which  in  conjunction  with  something 
which  is  of  itself  good,  becomes  i^ore  eligible. '     What, 


*  What  is  here  asserted  by  Aristotle,  apparently  in  opposition  to 
the  doctrine  of  Plato  in  the  Philebus,  may  be  easily  solved,  by 
directing  our  attention,  with  Proclus,  to  the  three  orders  of  good, 
which  are  employed  by  Plato  as  so  many  steps  in  ascending  to  the 
supreme  good.  These  three  orders  are,  that  good  which  is  impar- 
ticipable  and  superessential ;  that  which  is  imparticipable  and  es- 
sential ;  and  that  which  is  essential  and  participable.  Of  these,  the 
last  is  such  as  our  nature  contains  :  the  good  which  ranks  among 
forms  or  ideas  is  essential ;  and  that  which  is  beyond  forms  is 
superessential.  Or  wc  may  say,  that  the  good  which  subsists  in  us 
may  be  considered  as  a  habit,  in  consequence  of  its  subsisting  in  a 


CHAP.  II. 


ETHICS. 


371 


therefore,  is  the  thing  of  this  kind,  of  which  we  also 
pai:ticipate  ?  For  a  thing  of  this  kind  is  the  object  of 
investigation.  Those,  however,  who  deny  that  it  is  good 
which  all  beings  desire,  say  nothing  to  the  purpose ; 
for  we  say  that  the  thing  which  appears  to  all  beings  to 
exist,  does  exist.  But  he  who  subverts  this  belief,  does 
not  assert  that  which  is  very  much  more  credible.  For 
if  they  denied  that  to  be  good  which  is  desired  by  beings 


subject ;  the  next  to  this  ranks  as  essence,  and  a  part  of  essence,  I 
mean  the  good  which  subsists  among  forms ;  and  the  last  ranks  as 
that  which  is  neither  a  habit  nor  a  part.  When,  therefore,  Socra- 
tes,  in  the  Republic,  says,  «  That  to  the  multitude  pleasure  seems, 
to  be  the  good,  and  to  the  more  elegant  it  seems  to  be  prudence," 
he  signifies  that  good  which  is  resident  in  our  nature,  and  which 
from  its  being  an  impression  of  the  ineflPable  principle  of  things, 
xn:iy  be  called  the  summit  or  flower  of  our  essence.  And  when  he 
also  says  that  the  idea  of  the  good  is  the  greatest  discipline, 
which  renders  both  such  things  as  are  just,  and  other  things  which 
employ  it,  useful  and  profitable,  and  that  we  do  not  sufficiently 
know  it ; — these  assertions  accord  with  the  good  which  is  in  us, 
with  that  which  is  in  forms,  and  with  that  which  is  understood  to 
be  prior  to  all  things.  For  the  idea  of  the  good  signifies  a  partici- 
pated  form,  a  separate  intelligible,  and  that  which  has  a  separate 
subsistence  prior  to  intelligibles  ;  since  the  term  idea,  according  to  | 
Plato,  indicates  that  object  of  desire  which  is  established  prior  to  all 
things,  vi»,  prior  to  all  things  belonging  to  a  certain  series.  Thus, 
for  instance,  the  good  in  our  nature  is  prior  to  every  thing  else 
pertaining  to  the  soul ;  the  good  which  ranks  among  forms  is  prior 
to  every  thing  which  is  the  source  of  essential  perfection ;  and  the 
good  which  reigns  in  the  intelligible  world  is  prior  to  every  series, 
and  to  all  things. 

In  consequence  of  this  triple  meaning,  therefore,  of  the  term  the 
good,  the  objections  of  Aristotle  are  made  as  if  Plato,  in  what  he 
says  of  good  in  the  Philebus,  directed  his  attention  to  the  supreme 
good,  the  principle  of  all  things,  and  not  to  that  good  which  is  resr* 
dent  in  our  nature,  and  is  derived  from  the  supreme  good. 


•\«,/ 


S72 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  X. 


destitute  of  intellect,  there  would  be  some  truth  in  what 
they  say  ;  but  if  they  also  deny  that  to  be  good  which 
beings  endued  with  prudence  and  wisdom  desire,  how 
will  they  say  any  thing  which  can  be  admitted  ?  Perhaps, 
also,  even  in  bad  men  there  is  a  certain  natural  good, 
which  transcends  their  depravity,'  and  which  aspires 
after  its  proper  good.  Neither  does  that  which  is  assert- 
ed of  the  contrary  to  pleasure  appear  to  be  well  said. 
For  it  does  not  follow,  say  they,  that  if  pain  is  an  evil, 
pleasure  is  good  ;  since  evil  is  opposed  to  evil,  and  both 
good  and  evil  are  opposed  to  that  which  is  neither.  And 
these  things,  indeed,  are  asserted  by  them  not  badly,  yet 
they  are  not  true  when  applied  to  the  present  subject. 
For  if  both  pleasure  and  pain  were  bad,  it  would  be 
requisite  that  both  should  be  avoided;  but  if  neither 
is  bad,  neither  is  to  be  avoided,  or  each  is  similarly  to  be 
avoided.  But  now,  indeed,  it  appears  that  pain  is  avoid- 
ed as  an  evil,  and  that  pleasure  is  chosen  as  a  good. 
In  this  manner,  therefore,  they  are  opposed  to  each 
other. 

«  Conformably  to  this,  also,  Plato  in  his  Laws  says,  "  That  in 
the  souls  of  certain  vicious  persons,  there  is  something  divine^  and 
a  power  of  distinguishing  well." 


CHAP.  III. 


ETHICS. 


373 


CHAPTER    III. 


Neither  does  it  follow  that  if  pleasure  is  not  among 
the  number  of  qualities,  it  is  not  on  this  account  good ; 
for  neither  are  the  energies  of  virtue  qualities,  nor  is 
felicity  a  quality.     They  say,   therefore,    that   good  is 
definite,  but  that  pleasure  is  indefinite,  because  it  receives 
the  more  and  the  less.     Hence,  if  they  form  this  judg- 
ment from  the  being  delighted,  the  same  thing  will  also 
take  place  injustice,  and  the  other  virtues,  in  which  men 
evidently  assert  that  there  is  more  and  less  of  things  of 
this  kind  ;  for  some  are  more  just  and  brave  than  others. 
It  is  likewise  possible  to  act  justly  and  to  live  temperate- 
ly, in  a  greater  and  less  degree.     But  if  they  admit  this 
to  take  place  in  pleasures,  they  do  not  seem  to  have  as- 
signed the  cause  of  it ;  if  some  pleasures  indeed  are  un- 
mingled,  but  others  are  mingled.     What  however  hin- 
ders but  that,  in  the  same  manner  as  health,  which  is  a 
definite  thing,  receives  the  more  and  the  less ;  this,  also, 
may  be  the  case  with  pleasure?  For  there  is   not  jthe 
same  symmetry  in  all  things,  nor  is  there   always   one 
certain  symmetry  in  the  same  thing ;   but  suffering  a  re- 
mission, it  remains  for  a  certain  time,  and  differs  in  the 
more  and  the   less.     A  thing   of  this  kind,    therefore; 
may  also  happen  to  pleasure.     As  tiley  likewise  admit 
that  good  itself  is  perfect,  but  that  motions  and  genera- 


374 


THE   NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  X, 


CHAP.  HI. 


ETHICS, 


375 


tions  are  imperfect,  they  endeavour  to  show  that  pleasure 
IS  motion  and  generation.  They  do  not,  however,  ap- 
pear to  assert  this  well,  since  pleasure  is  not  motion.  For 
to  all  motion  swiftness  and  slowness  appear  to  be  appro- 
priate, and  though  not  per  se,  such  as  to  the  motion  of 
the  world,  '  yet  they  are  appropriate  with  reference  to 
another  motion.  But  neither  of  these  is  inherent  in 
pleasure.  For  it  is  possible,  indeed,  to  be  rapidly  de- 
lighted, in  the  same  manner  as  it  is  possible  to  be  swift- 
ly enraged ;  but  it  is  not  possible  for  the  delight  itself  to 
be  swift  or  slow,  not  even  with  reference  to  something 
else.  It  IS  possible,  however,  that  walking  and  augmen- 
tation, may  be  swift  or  slow,  and  every  thing  else  of  the 
like  kind.  Hence,  it  is  possible  to  be  changed  quickly 
and  slowly  into  pleasure  ;  but  it  is  not  possible  to  ener- 
gize swiftly  according  to  it  3  viz.  to  be  delighted  swiftly 
according  to  it. 

And  in  what  manner  will  pleasure  be  generation  ?  For 
It  appears  that  not  any  casual  thing  is  generated  from  any 
casual  thing,  but  that  a  thing  is  dissolved  into  that  from 
which  it  was  generated.  And  that  of  which  pleasure  is 
the  generation,  of  this  pain  is  the  corruption.  They  also 
say,  that  pain  is  the  indigence  of  that  which  is  according 
to  nature  ;  but  that  pleasure  is  the  complete  fulness  of  it. 
But  these  are  corporeal  passions.  If,  therefore,  pleasure 
is  the  complete  fulness  of  that  which  subsists  according 
to  n^iture,  that  in  which  this  fulness  takes  place  will  also 

*  Viz.  Of  the  inerratic  sphere.  For  this  sphere,  in  consequence 
of  the  equability  of  its  motion,  receives  neither  swiftness  nor  slow- 
ness, as  is  demonstrated  in  the  treatise  On  the  Heavens ;  but  if  it 
is  compared  with  the  motions  of  the  planets,  it  will  be  found  that 
it*  motion  is  much  swifter  than  their  motions.— -Eustratius. 


be  delighted.  Hence,  the  body  will  be  delighted  ;  but 
.  it  does  not  appear  that  this  is  the  case.  Pleasure,  there- 
fore, is  not  complete  fulness.  But  complete  fulness,  in- 
deed,  taking  place,  some  one  may  be  delighted,  and  when 
cut  he  may  be  pained.  This  opinion,  however,  appears 
to  have  originated  from  the  pleasures  and  pains  pertain- 
ing to  food  ;  for  when  we  are  in  want  of  nutriment,  and 
have  been  previously  pained  in  consequence  of  this  want, 
we  are  delighted  with  being  completely  filled.  This, 
however,  does  not  happen  to  be  the  case  in  all  pleasures. 
For  mathematical  pleasures  are  unattended  with  pain, 
and  also  those  sertsible  pleasures  which  subsist  through 
the  smell,  the  hearing,  and  the  sight.  Many  recollec- 
tions, also,  and  hopes  are  unattended  with  pain.  Of 
what,  therefore,  will  these  be  the  generations  ?  For  in 
these  there  has  been  no  previous  indigence  of  any  thing, 
of  which  these  may  be  the  complet«  fulness.  But  to 
those  who  adduce  disgraceful  pleasures  [in  confirmation 
of  this  opinion,  it  may  be  said  that  these  are  not  simply  j 
delectable.  For  it  must  not  be  admitted,  that  if  these 
are  delightful  to  those  who  are  badly  disposed,  they  are 
also  simply  delectable,  but  that  they  are  so  to  these  only; 
as  neither  are  those  things  simply  salubrious,  or  sweet, 
or  bitter,  which  appear  to  be  so  to  those  who  are  dis- 
eased ;  nor,  again,  are  those  things  white  whic4i  appear 
to  be  so  to  those  whose  eyes  are  dimmed  with  rheum.  It 
may  likewise  be  said  in  reply,  that  pleasures  are  indeed 
eligible,  yet  not  from  these  things  ;  just  as  to  be  rich  is 
eligible,  yet  not  by  treachery  ;  and  to  be  well  is  eligible, 
yet  not  by  eating  any  kind  of  food.  Or  it  may  be  said, 
that  pleasures  are  specificaily  different.  For  those  plea-^ 
sures  which  are  produced  by  worthy,  are  different  from  1 
those  which  are  produced  by  base  pursuits,  and  it  is  not  ^ 


y 


376 


THE   NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  X. 


possible  for  any  one  to  be  delighted  with  the  pleasure 
of  a  just  man  who  is  not  just,  or  with  the  pleasure  of  a 
musician  who  is  not  a  lover  of  music  ;  ajid  in  a  similar 
manner  in  other  things.     A  friend,  also,  who  is  a  diffe- 
rent person  from  a  flatterer,  appears  to  evince  that  plea- 
sure is  not  good,  or  that  pleasures  are  specifically  diffe- 
rent ;  for  it  seems  that  the  association  of  a  friend  is  with 
a  view  to  good,  but  of  a  flatterer,  with  a  view  to  plea- 
sure ;  and  the  one  is  reprobated,  but  the  other  is  praised, 
in  consequence  of  their  associations  being  directed  to 
different  ends.     Besides,  no  one  would  choose  to  live, 
possessing  a  puerile  understanding  through  the  whole  of 
life,  and  being  delighted  as  much  as  possible  with  those 
things   which,  are  the  objects  of  puerile  delight ;   nor 
would  any  one  choose  so  to  rejoice  in  doing  something 
most  base,  as  never  to  be  grieved  for  having  done  it. 
We  likewise  earnestly  apply  ourselves  to  many  things, 
though  they  should  procure  us  no  pleasure,  such  as  to 
see,  to  recollect,  to  know,  and  to  possess  the  virtues.  But 
it  makes  no  difference,  if  pleasure  follows  these  things 
from  necessity  ;   for  we  should  choose  these,  though  no 
pleasure  should  be  produced  from  them.     That  plea- 
sure, therefore,  is  not  good  itself,  and  that  all  pleasure  is 
not  eligible,  appears  to  be  evident,  as  likewise  that  some 
pleasures  are  eligible  of  themselves,  but  differ  in  species, 
or  in  the  things  from  which  they  are  produced.     And 
thus  much  may  suffice  with  respect  to  what  is  asserted  by 
others  concerning  pleasure  and  pain. 


t 


i^icSJii^  <fS^i^^>ti  ife«tf^tfai!8BA^  'fa'gtbaitoa' j^^'&^^Jte^.  SsSf^^-^  m-  . 


4  *-  ■■■  f  J  ■"  -lii 


CHAP.  IV. 


ETHICS. 


377 


CHAPTER    IV. 


What  pleasure,  however,  is,  or  what  kind  of  thing 
it  is,  will  become  more  evident,  by  resuming  the  consi- 
deration of  it  from  the  beginning.  For  the  sight,  in- 
deed, seems  to  be  perfect  at  any  time ;  since  it  is  not 
indigent  of  any  thing,  which,  taking  place  afterwards,  will 
give  perfection  to  its  form.  But  pleasure  seems  to  re- 
semble a  thing  of  this  kind ;  for  it  is  a  certain  whole. 
Nor  can  a  pleasure  be  assumed  at  any  time,  the  form  of 
which  would  be  perfected  by  the  accession  of  a  longer 
time.  Hence,  neither  is  it  motion  ;  for  all  motion  is  in 
time,  and  is  referred  to  a  certain  end.  Thus,  for  instance, 
the  motion  which  exists  in  building  a  temple  is  perfect, 
when  it  effects  that  which  it  desires  to  accomplish.  It  is 
perfect,  therefore,  either  in  the  whole  of  the  time,  or  in 
this  time.  But  in  the  parts  of  the  time,  all  the  motions 
are  imperfect,  and  are  specifically  different  from  the 
whole  motion,  and  from  each  other.  For  the  composi- 
tion of  the  stones  is  different  from  the  erection  of  the 
pillar  at  right  angles,  and  these  motions  are  different 
from  the  fabrication  of  the  temple.  And  the  motion, 
indeed,  employed  in  building  the  temple  is  perfect ;  for 
it  is  in  want  of  nothing  to  the  propos^  end ;  but  the 
motion  employed  in  laying  the  foundation  and  the  roof  is 


378 


THE    NICOMACHJZAN 


fiOQK  X. 


CHAP.  IV. 


ETHICS. 


S79 


imperfect ;  for  each  pertains  to  a  part.     The  motions, 
therefore,  are  specifically  different,  and  it  is  not  possible 
to  assume  a  motion  perfect  in  its  species  in  any  time,  ex- 
cept  the  whole  time.     The  like  also  takes  place  in  walk- 
mg  and  other  motions.     For  if  lation  is  a  motion  from 
one  place  to  another,  the  specific  differences  of  this  mo- 
tion  are,  flying,  walking,  leaping,  and  the  like.     And 
not  only  so,  but  in  walking  itself  there  is  a  difference ; 
for  the  motion  from  one  place  to  another  in  walking,  is 
not  the  same  in  the  stadium  and  a  part  of  the  stadium, 
and  in  the  different  parts  of  it.     Nor  is  the  mutation  of 
place  the  same  in  passing  through  this   line  and  t!iat, 
[viz.  in  passing  through  a  curve  and  a  straight  line.] 
For  not  only  a  line  is  passed  through,  but  a  line  existing 
in  place  ;  and  this  line  is  in  a  different  place  from  that. 
We  have,  therefore,  accurately  discussed  motion  else-* 
where,  [i.  e.  in  the  5th  book  of  the  Physics.]     Hence, 
it  appears  that  motion  is  not  perfect  in  every  time,  but 
that  the  multitude  of  motions  are  imperfect,  and  specifi. 
cally  different,  since  they  are  formalized  by  proceeding 
from  one  place  to  another.     The  form  however  of  plea- 
sure is  perfect  in  any  time.     It  is  evident,  therefore,  that 
motion  and  pleasure  are  different  from  each  other',  and 
that  pleasure  is  something  whole  and  perfect. 

This  would  also  seem  to  be  evident,  from  the  impos- 
sibility of  being  moved  except  in  time,  but  the  possibility 
of  being  delighted  without  time,  [i.  e.  in  an  instant ;] 
for  that  which  is  effected  in  the  now,  or  an  instant,  is'a 
cmain  whole.  From  these  things,  however,  it  is  mani- 
fest, that  it  is  not  well  said  that  pleasure  is  motion  or 
gene^tion;  for  motion  and  generation  are  not  predi- 
cated of  all  things,  but  of  those  only  which  may  be  dis- 


tributed into  parts,  and  are  not  wholes.     For  there  is  not 
generation  of  sight,  nor  of  a  point,  nor  of  the  monad  ; 
nor  is  there  either  motion  or  generation  of  these.     Nei- 
ther, therefore,  is  there  of  pleasure ;  for  it  is  a  certain 
whole.     Hence,  from  what  has  been  said,  it  is  evident 
that  a  certain  pleasure  is   conjoined  with   every  sense 
I  in  energy,  which   energizes   without   being  impeded,  *" 
^But  the  energy  of  the  sense  is  perfect  which  is  well  dis- 
posed towards  the  most  beautiful  of  the  objects  that  fall 
under  that  sense ;  for  perfect  energy  appears  to  be  espe- 
cially a  thing  of  this  kind.     It  is,  however,  of  no  conse- 
quence, whether  it  is  said,  that  the  sense  itself  energizes, 
or  that  in  which  it  exists.    But  in  every  thing,  the  energy 
is  the  most  excellent  of  that  which  is  disposed  in  the 
best  manner  towards  the  most  excellent  of  the  things 
which  are  subject  to  it.     But  this  energy  will  be  most 
perfect  and  most  delightful.     For  there  is  pleasure  ac- 
cording to  every  sense ;  and  in  a  similar  manner,  accord- 
,  ing  to  every  discursive  energy  of  the   soul,  and  every 
!  contemplation.    But  lijie  most  perfect  energy  is  the  most 
I  delectable ;  and  that  is  the  most  perfect  which  is  the 
i  energy  of  that  whicl^f  is  well  disposed  towards  the  best  of 
\  the  things  subject  to  it.     Pleasure,   however,   perfects 
■  energy.     But  pleasure  does  not  perfect  energy  after  the 
stme  manner  as  the  object  of  sense  perfects  sense,  when 
both  are  in  a  good  condition  ;  just  as  neither  are  health 
and  a  physician  similarly  the  cause  of  being  made  well. 
It  is  evident,  however,  that  pleasure  is  produced  accord- 
'  ing  to  each  of  the  senses  ;  for  we  say  that  things  which 
are  seen,  and  things  which  are  heard,  are  delectable.  And 
it  is  also  evident,  that  they  are  especially  delectable,  when 

>  I  have  here  adopted  the  emendation  proposed  by  Eustratius, 


380 


THE    NICOMACHBAN 


BOOK  X. 


the  sense  is  most  excellent,  and  energises  about  the  most 
excellent  object.     But  where  the   sensible  object,  and 
/  that  which  perceives  it,  are  things  of  this  kind,  there  will 
/   always  be  pleasure,  the  agent  and  patient  being  present 
/     ^^^'.^o^^li.2?Siects^,^ergY,  not  as  an  inherent 
habit,  but  as  a  certain  supervening  end,  such  as  the  flower 
of  age  in  those  who  are  in  their  acme.     As  long,  how- 
ever, as  that  which  is  sensible  or  intelligible,  is  such  as  it 
ought  to  be,  and  also  that  which  judges  or  contemplates, 
pleasure  will  be  in  energy ;  for  when  that  which  is  pas- 
sive  and  that  which  is  active  are  similar,  and  subsisting 
after  the  same  manner  with  reference  to  each  other,  the 
same  thing  is  naturally  adapted  to  be  produced.     How 
therefore,  does  it  happen  that  no  one  is  continually  de' 
lighted  ?  Is  it  because  he  becomes  [at  length]  weary  ? 
For  all  human  concerns  are  incapable  of  energizing  coni 
tmually.     Neither,  therefore,  can  pleasure  be  generated 
m  an  uninterrupted  continuity ;  for  it  is  consequent  to 
energy.     Some  things,  however,  delight  when  they  are 
new ;  but  afterwards  for  this  reason  [because  pleasure 
cannot  be  generated  incessantly]  do  net  similarly  delight. 
For  at  first,  indeed,  the  discursive  power  of  the  soul  in- 
clines  towards,  and  intently  energizes  about  these,  in  the 
same  manner  as  those  who  look  intently  at  any  thing. 
Afterwards,  however,  an  energy  of  this  kind  is  no  longer 
/produced,   but  it  becomes  remiss.     Hence,   the  plea- 
/  sure  also  is   obscured.     It   may,  however,   be   thought 
that  all  men  aspire  after  pleasure,  because  all  of  them 
desire  to  live;  but  life  is  a  certain  energy;   and   every 
/  one  energizes  about  and  in  those  things  which  he  espe- 
V   cially  loves.     Thus,  for  instance,  the  musician  energizes 
with  the  hearing  about  melodies,  but  the  lover  of  disci- 
plines energizes  with  the  discursive  power  of  his  soul 


^^XffSlfK^JlMiAi£lli'«i.  "■ 


Hb-i-Jw    -  ■  ti. 


CHAP.  V. 


ETHICS. 


381 


about  theorems,  and  in  a  similar  manner  the  lover  of 
other  pursuits.  But  pleasure  perfects  energies ;  andjt 
likewise  per£ects-fife,  which  is  the  abject  of  desire.  Rea- 
sonably, therefore,  do  all  men  aspire  after  pleasure ;  for 
it  gives  perfection  to  the  life  of  each,  which  is  an  eligible 
thing.  We  shall,  however,  omit  for  the  present  to  con-  j 
sider,  whether  we  choose  to  live  on  account  of  pleasure, 
or  choose  pleasure  for  the  sake  of  living ;  for  these  things 
appear  to  be  conjoined,  and  do  not  admit  of  being  sepa- 
^  rated.  For  pleasure  is  not  produced  without  energy, 
and  pleasure  gives  perfection  to  every  energy. 


CHAPTER  V. 


Hence,  also,  pleasures  appear  to  be  specifically  diffe- 
rent ;  for  we  are  of  opinion  that  things  specifically  diffe- 
rent, are  perfected  through  [perfections]  specifically  dif- 
ferent. For  this  appears  to  be  the  case  both  with  natu- 
ral and  artificial  productions  ;  as,  for  instance,  with  ani- 
mals and  trees,  pictures  and  statues,  houses  and  furniture. 
In  a  similar  manner,  therefore,  we  are  of  opinion,  that 
energies  specifically  different,  are  perfected  by  things 
that  differ  in  spefcies.  But  the  energies  of  the  discursive 
powers  of  reason,  differ  from  the  energies  of  the  senses. 


382 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  X. 


CHAP.  V. 


ETHICS. 


383 


and   these  are  specifically  different  from  each    other 
Hence,  also  the  pleasures  which  give  perfection  to  these' 
are  specifically  different.     This,  however,  will  also  be- 
come apparent  from  hence,  that  each  of  the  pleasures  is 
intimately  familiarized  with  the  energy  which  it  perfects. 
For  appropriate  pleasures  co-increase  energy ;  smce  those 
who  energize  in  conjunction   with  pleasure,   energize 
,about  every  thing  more  accurately,  and  with  more  exqui- 
;  sue  judgment.     Thus,  for  instance,  those  become  [more 
/   excellent]  geometricians,  who  are  delighted  to  geome- 
V     trize,  and  they  understand  in  a  greater  degree  evei^  thing 
geomemcal.     The  like  also  takes  place  with  the  lover! 
of  music,  the  lovers  of  architecture,  and  the  lovers  of  the 
other  arts  ;  for  each  of  these  makes  a  proficiency  in  his 
^.  proper  employment,   if  he  delights  in   it.      Pleasures 
^  therefore,   co-increase  energies ;    but  things  which  co' 
increase  are  appropriate ;  and  to  things  which  are  spe- 
cifically different,  the   things  also  which  are  appropriate 
are  specifically  different.     Again,  this  will  in  a  greater 
degree  become  apparent,  from  considering  that  pleasures 
which  are  produced  from  different  thing?  are  an  impedt 
ment  to  energies.     For  the  lovers  of  the  flute  cajinot 
attend  to  discourse  if  they  hear  any  one  playing  on  the 
tiute,  in  consequence  of  being  more  delighted  with  the 
inelody  of  the  flute,  than  with  the  present  energy  fi  e 
than  with  what  is  said.]     The  pleasure,  therefore  which 
.s  produced  by  the  melody   of  the  flute,  corrupts  the 
energy  of  discourse.     And  in  a  similar   manner,   this 
also  happens  m  other  things,  when  a  man  energizes  at 
cne  and  the  same  time  about  two  things  ;  for  the  more 
delectable  energy  expels  the  other ;  and  this  in  a  still 
greater  degree.  |f  it  very  much  surpasses  in  pleasure,  so 
as  to  reader  ,t  impossible  to  energjze  according  to  the 


Other  energy.  Hence,  when  we  are  very  much  deh'ghted 
with  any  thing,  we  do  not  in  any  great  degree  perform 
any  thing  else ;  but  w^hen  we  are  only  moderately  pleas- 
ed with  certain  things,  we  can  do  others.  Thus,  those 
who  in  the  theatres  eat  sweetmeats,  are  especially  accus- 
tomed to  do  this  when  the  performers  act  badly.  Since, 
however,  appropriate  pleasure  gives  accuracy  to  energies, 
and  renders  them  more  lasting  and  better,  but  foreign 
pleasures  corrupt  them,  it  is  evident  that  these  pleasures 
differ  very  much  from  each  other.  For  nearly  foreign 
pleasures  effect  the  same  thing  as  appropriate  pains,  p.  e. 
as  the  pains  which  are  consequent  to  certain  energies.] 
Thus,  if  it  is  unpleasant  and  painful  to  any  one  to  write  \ 
or  to  any  one  to  reason ;  the  former,  indeed,  will  not 
v^Tite,  and  the  latter  will  not  reason,  in  consequence  of 
the  energy  being  painful.  From  appropriate  pleasures 
and  pains,  therefore,  that  which  is  contrary  happens 
about  energies.  But  those  pleasures  and  pains  are  ap- 
propriate,  which  are  essentially  consequent  to  energy. 
And  with  respect  to  foreign  pleasures,  we  have  already 
observed,  that  they  effect  something  similar  to  pain,  for 
they  corrupt,  though  not  in  a  similar  manner. 

Since,  however,  energies  differ  in  probity  and  depra- 
vity, and  some  of  them  indeed  being  eligible,  but  others 
to  be  avoided,  and  others  being  neither,  pleasures  also 
have  a  similar  mode  of  subsistence  :  for  there  is  an  ap* 
prppXiM^Bk?^?.l^^.§ JiL6 v^ry  ,eiiergy^  The  pleasure,  there- 
fore, which  is  appropriate  to  a  worthy  energy  is  v/orthy, 
but  that  which  is  appropriate  to  a  bad  energy,  is  de- 
praved ;  for  the  desires,  indeed,  of  things  truly  beautiful 
are  laudable,  but  of  base  things  are   blameable.     The 


\ 
I 


-f  i*«''ji ..-■«■-»■■■ 


384 


THE  NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  X. 


J 


■ 

\ 


pleasures  however  which  are  in  energies,  are  more  appro- 
priate  to  the  energies  than  desires  are.     For  desires, 
indeed,  are  separated  [from  energies,]  by  times,  and  by 
nature ;  but  pleasures  are  proximate  to  energies,  and 
are  so  indistinct  from  them,  as  to  render  it  dubious,  whe- 
ther energy  is  the  same  with  pleasure.      It  does  not 
appear,  however,  that  pleasure  is  either  the  discursive 
energy  of  reason  or  sense  j  for  it  would  be  absurd  [to 
suppose  that  it  is  ;j  though  on  account  of  the  inseparabi- 
hty  of  pleasure  from  energy,  it  seems  to  certain  persons 
to  be  the  same  with  it.     As,  therefore,  energies  are  dif. 
ferent,  so  likewise  pleasures.      But  the  sight  differs  from 
the  touch  in  purity,  and  the  hearing  and  the  smell  from 
the   taste.     Hence,   the  pleasures  also  of  these   senses 
similarly  differ ;  and  those  which  pertain  to  the  discur- 
sive  energy  of  reason,  likewise  differ,  and  both  these  differ 
from  each  other.     It  seems,  however,  that  there  is  an 
appropriate  pleasure  to  every  animal,  just  as  there  also  is 
an  appropriate  work ;  for  this  pleasure  is  that  which  sub- 
sists according  to  energy.     And  this  will  be  apparent 
from  a  survey  of  each  particular.     For  there  is  one  plea- 
sure of  a  horse,  another  of  a  dog,  and  another  of  a  man; 
and,  as  Heraclitus  says,  an  iss  would  prefer  straw  to  gold; 
because  food  is  more  delectable  to  asses  than  gold.     The 
pleasures,  therefore,  of  animals  specifically  different,  are 
likewise  specifically  different,  but  it  is  reasonable  to  sup- 
pose  that  the  pleasures  of  the  same  animals  are  without  a 
[specific]  difference.     There  is  no  small  variety,  how- 
iever,in  pleasures  among  men;  for  the  same  things  are 
pamful  to  some  and  pleasing  to  others ;  and  to  «ome,  in- 
.deed,  they  are  painful  and  odious,  but  to  others  delecta- 
ble and  lovely.     This,  likewise,  happens  to  be  the  case  in 
sweet  things ;  for  the  same  things  do  not  appear  sweet  to 


CHAP.  V. 


ETHICS. 


385 


a  man  in  a  fever,  and  to  one  who  is  well ;  nor  does  the 
same  thing  appear  to  be  hot  to  him  who  is  weak,  and  to 
him  who  is  of  a  good  habit  of  body.  And  in  a  similar  man- 
ner  this  happens  to  be  the  case  in  other  things.     In  all 
such  things  as  these,  however,  that  [is  simply  delectable  J 
which  appears  to  be  so  to  the  worthy  man.     But  if  this  is 
well  said,  as  it  appears  that  it  is,  and  virtue  is  the  measure 
of  every  thing,  and  a  good  man  so  far  as  he  is  good,  those 
things  will  be  pleasures  which  appear  to  be  so  to  the 
good  man,  and  those  things  will  be  delectable  in  which 
1  he  rejoices.     It  is,  however,  by  fio  means  wonderful,  if 
things  which  appear  to  him  to  be  of  a  troublesome  na- 
tare,  should  to  another  person  [of  a  different  character,] 
appear  to  be  delectable.  For  many  corruptions  and  noxious 
circumstances  happen  to  men;  but  these  are  not  [simply] 
delectable,  except  to  these  persons,  and  to  those  who  are 
thus  disposed.     With  respect,  therefore,  to  those  plea- 
sures  which  are  acknowledged  to  be  base,  it  is  evident 
that  they  are  not  to  be  called  pleasures,  except  by  cor- 
rupt men.     But  with  respect  to  those  pleasures  which 
appear  to  be  worthy,  what  is  the  quality  of  the  pleasure, 
or  what  shall  we  say  the  pleasure  is,  which  is  proper  to 
men  ?  Or  shall  we  say,  that  this  is  evident  from  energies  ? 
For  pleasures  are  consequent  to  these.     Whether,  there- 
fore, there  is  one  energy,  or  whether  there  are  many 
energies  of  the  perfect  and  blessed  man,  the  pleasures 
which  give  perfection  to  these,  may  be  properly  called 
the  pleasures  of  man  ;  but  the  remaining  pleasures,  in  the 
same  manner  as  the  energies,  may  be  denommated  the 
pleasures  of  man  secondarily  and  multifariously. 


ArisL 


VOL.  II. 


o 


A 


^iae;»*;aad».  ijtJx\at.  JWwai><'^Vidfci.»twrfsiCfjtiawrf^»*'>i 


386 


THE   JJICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  X. 


CHAP.  VI. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


Havikg  therefore  spoken  concerning  the  virtues,  and 
friendships,  and  pleasures,  it  remains  that  we  should 
delineate  felicity,  since  we  admit  that  it  is  the  end  of 
human  concerns.  Hence,  by  recapitulating  what  we 
have  before  said,  the  discussion  will  be  more  concise. 
We  have  said,  then,  that  felicity  is  not  a  habit ;  for  if  it 
were,  it  might  be  present  with  him  who  passes  the  whole 
of  his  life  in  sleep,  living  the  life  of  a  plant,  and  also 
with  him  who  is  involved  in  the  greatest  calamities.  If, 
therefore,  these  things  cannot  be  admitted,  but  felicity 
musi^^rather  be  referred  to  a  certain  energy,  as  we  have 
before  observed,  but  of  energies,  some  are  necessary  and 
eligible  on  account  of  other  things,  and  others  are  eligible 
of  themselves; — if  this  be  the  case,  it  is  evident  that  felici- 
ty must  be  admitted  to  be  some  one  of  the  energies  which 
are  of  themselves  eligible,  and  not  one  of  those  which  are 
eligible  on  account  of  something  else.  For  felicity  is 
not  indigent  of  any  thing,  but  is  sufficient  to  itself.  But 
those  energies  are  eligible  of  themselves,  from  which 
nothing  except  the  energy  is  the  object  of  investigation. 
But  the  actions  which  are  conformable  to  virtue,  appear 
to  be  things  of  this  kind  j  for  to  perform  beautiful  and 


ETHICS. 


387 


irorthy  deeds  ,s  among  the  number  of  things  which  are 
of  themselves  eligible ;  and  among  diversions,  this  is  also 
the  case  wuh  those  that  are  delectable;  since  they  are 
not  chosen  on  account  of  other  things.     For  those  who 
are  addicted  to  them   are  rather  injured  than  benefited 
m  consequence  of  neglecting  their  bodies  and  possessions!  / 
Many  of  those,  however,  who  are  said  to  be  happy  men 
fly  to  diversions ;  on  which  account  those  who  are  versa! 
lie  msuch-hke  methods  of  spending  their  time  are  e^ 
eemed  by  tyrants      For  they  render  themselves  pleasing 
m  those  things  which  they  desire  ;  and  they  are  in  want 
of  persons  of  this  description.     These  things,  therefore 
appear  to  pertain  to  felicity,  because  men  in  authority" 
and  power  are  at  leisure  for  these.     Perhaps,  however 
persons  of  this  description  are  no  indication  [that  these' 
things  pertain  to  felicity.]     For  neither  virtue,  nor  intef- 
^ect,  from  which    worthy  energies  proceed,  consist  i4 
cbmimon  and  power.     Nor,  if  these  men,  not  having V 
tasted  of  genmne  and  liberal  pleasure,  fly  to  corporeal 
p  easures,  must  it  be  supposed  that  on  this  account  these 
pleasures  are  more  eligible ;  for  children  also  fancy  that 
thmgs  which  are  honoured   by  them,  are  the  best  of 
thmgs.     It  ,s  reasonable,  therefore,  to  admit,  that  as  dif- 
ferent things  appear  to  be  honourable  to  children  and 
men,  so  likewise  to  bad  and  worthy  men.     Hence,  as  we 
have  frequently  said,  those  things  are  honourable  and  de- 
lectable,   which  are   so  to  the  worthy  man.     But  the 
energy  to  every  one  is  most  eligible  which  is  according 
to  an  appropriate  habit ;  and  to  the  worthy   man  the 
energy  is  most  eligible  which  is  according  to  virtue    Feli  ' 
city,  therefore,  does  not  consist  in  diversions.     For  it  is  \ 
absurd  to  admit  that  diversion  is  the  end  [i.  e.  the  chief 
good  of  man,]  and  that  the  whole  of  life  is  to  be  busily  ' 


/ 


II 


388 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  X, 


employed,  and  molestations  endured  for  the  sake  of  in- 
-  dulging  in  sports;  since,  as  I  may  say,  we  choose  all 
things  for  the  sake  of  something  else,  except  felicity ;  for 
this  is  the  end.  But  to  act  seriously,  and  to  labour  for 
the  sake  of  diversion,  appears  to  be  foolish  and  very 
puerile.  He,  however,  who  engages  in  sports,  in  order 
that  he  may  act  seriously,  which  Anacharsis  thought  was 
proper,  appears  to  be  right ;  for  diversion  resembles  re- 
pose. But  as  men  are  incapable  of  labouring  incessantly, 
they  require  relaxation.  Relaxation,  however,  is  not  an 
end ;  for  it  subsists  for  the  sake  of  energy.  But  a  happy 
life  appears  to  be  conformable  to  virtue ;  and  this  is  a 
Worthy  life,  and  does  not  consist  in  amusements.  We 
likewise  say  that  serious  pursuits  are  better  than  those 
that  are  ridiculous  and  accompanied  with  jesting  and 
sport,  and  that  the  energy  of  the  better  part  and  tlie 
better  man  is  always  more  worthy.  But  the  energy  of 
that  which  is  better  is  more  excellent,  and  more  adapted 
to  felicity.  Any  casual  person,  also,  and  a  slave  may 
enjoy  corporeal  pleasures  no  less  than  the  best  of  men. 
No  one,  however,  would  ascribe  felicity  to  a  slave,  unless 
they  also  ascribe  to  him  a  worthy  life.  For  felicity  does 
not  consist  in  sports  and  corporeal  pleasures,  but  in  the 
energies  according  to  virtue,  as  we  have  before  ob- 
served. 


LJ/Hjf.^ 


CHAT.  VII. 


ETHICS. 


389 


CHAPTER  VII. 


If,  however,  felicity  is  an  energy  according  to  virtue, 
it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  it  is  an  energy  according 
to  the  most  excellent  virtue  ;  and  this  will  be  the  virtue 
of  the   most  excellent  [part   or   power.']      Whether, 


'  Aristotle  having  spoken  of  the  physical  virtues  in  the  6th  book, 
(p.  463,)  and  having  largely  discussed  the  ethical  and  political  vir- 
tues, as  far  as  to  the  present  book,  now  directs  his  attention  to  the  vir- 
tues called  theoretic,  or  contemplative.  In  order,  however,  to  show 
that  the  division  made  by  Plato  and  the  best  of  his  disciples,  of  the 
virtues,  is  also  adopted  by  Aristotle,  the  following  summary  ac- 
count of  them  from  the  Platonic  Olympiodorus  is  subjoined  r 

The  first  of  the  virtues  are  the  physical,  which  (as  has  been  before 
observed)  are  common  to  brutes,  being  mingled  with  the  tempera- 
ments, and  for  the  most  part  contrary  to  each  other ;  or  rather  per- 
taining to  the  animal.    Of  these  virtues  Plato  speaks  in  the  Politicus 
and  the  Laws.     The  ethical  virtues,  which  are  above  these,  are  inge- 
nerated  by  custom,  and  a  certain  right  opinion,  and  are  the  virtues 
of  children  when  well  educated.    These  virtues,  also,  are  to  be  found 
in  some  brute  animals.      They   likewise  transcend  the   tempera- 
ments, and  on  this  account  are  not  contrary  to  each  other.     These 
virtues  Plato  delivers  in  the  Laws.     They  pertain,  however,  at  the 
same  time  both  to  reason  and  the  irrational  nature.     In  the  third 
rank  above  these  are  the  political  virtues,  which  pertain  to  reason 
alone ;  for  they  are  scientific.     But  they  are  the  virtues  of  reason 
adorning  the  irrational  part  as  its  instrument :  through  prudence 
adorning  the  gnostic,  through  fortitude  the  irascible  power,  and 


390 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  X. 


merefore,  this  be  the  intellect,  or  something  else  which 
appears  to  rule  and  be  the  leader  by  nature,  and  to  have 
a  conception  of  things  beautiful  and  divine ;  or  whether 

through  temperance,  the  power  of  the  soul  which  is  characterized 
by   desire ;   but  adorning   all   the  parts  of  the  irrational  nature 
through  justice.     And  of  these  virtues  P)ato  speaks  much  in  the 
Republic.     These  virtues,  too,  follow  each  other.     Above  these  are 
the  cathartic  virtues,  which  pertain  to  reason  alone,  withdrawing 
from  other  thmgs  to  itself,  throwing  aside  the  instruments  of  sense 
as  va.n,  repressing  also  the  energies  through  these  instruments,  and 
hberatmg  the  soul  from  the  bonds  of  generation.  Plato  particularly 
discusses  these   virtues  in  the    Phsedo.     Prior  to   these,    however 
are  the  theoretic  virtues,  which  pertain  to  the  soul,  introducing' 
Itself  to  natures  superior  to  itself,  not  only  gnostically.  as  some  one 
may  be  mduced  to  thi„k  from  the  name,  but  also  orectically ;  for  it 
hastens  to  become,  as  it  were,  intellect  instead  of  soul ;  and  intellect 
possesses  both  desire  and  knowledge.     These  virtues  are  the'  con- 
verse  of  the  political ;  for  as  the  latter  energize  about  things  subor- 
dmate  accordmg  to  reason,  so  the  former  about  things  more  excel- 
lent  accordmg   to  intellect.     These   virtues  Plato  delivers  in  the 
Thztetus. 

I  omit  to  mention  another  gradation  of  the  virtues  besides  these 
VIZ.  the  paradigmatic,  because  they  are  not  mentioned  by  Aristotle 
But  for  an  account  of  them,  I  refer  the  reader  to  my  translation  of 
Plato,  vol.  IV.  p.  273. 

I  shall  only  add,  that  to  the  superficial  reader  it  will  doubtless 
appear  that  Aristotle  has  omitted  to  mention  the  cathartic  virtues, 
and  that  these  virtues  therefore  form  no  part  of  the  Peripatetic  sys- 
tem of  ethics.  To  this  I  reply,  that  Aristotle  does  not  indeed 
expressly  mention  these  virtues,  but  that  he  evidently  alludes  to 
their  existence  in  the  eighth  chapter  of  this  book,  when  he  says  that 
the  ethical  virtue,  are  connected  Mi  the  passions,  and  subsist  about 
the  composite  Jrom  soul  and  body.  Hence,  as  the  theoretic  virtues 
are  not  connected  with  the  passionsj  and  therefore,  as  he  says,  the 
hfe  accordmg  to  intellect  is  divine,  with  respect  to  human  life  these 
virtues  evidently  require  to  their  existence  a  previous  purification 
rom  the  passions ;  and  this  purification  frqm  the  passions  consti- 
tutes the  cathartic  virtues. 


\ 


■■^/esSeamiiit.^  tt*  ■- 


CHAP.  VII. 


ETHICS. 


S91 


it  IS  Itself  divine,  or  the  most  divine  of  all  our  parts ; 

the  energy  of  this,  according  to  its  proper  virtue,  will  be-^ 
perfect  felicity.  But  we  have  said  that  this  energy  is  con- 
templative.    And  this  appears  to  accord  with  what  we 
before  asserted,  and  also  with  truth.     For  this  energy  is 
the  most  excellent ;  since  intellect   is  the  best  of  all  our 
parts,  and  of  objects  of  knowledge  those  are  the  most  ex- 
cellent  about  which  intellect  is  conversant.     This  energy  * 
also  is  most  continued  :  for  we  are  able  to  contemplate 
more  iricessantly  than  to  perform  any  action  whatever. 
We  likewise  think  that  pleasure  ought  to  be  mingled 
with   felicity;  but  the   energy    according  to  wisdom  is 
acknowledged  to  be  the  most  delectable  of  all  the  ener- 
gies according  to  virtue.     Wisdom,  therefore,  appears  to 
possess  pleasures  admirable  both  for  their  purity  and  sta- 
bility.    It  is  reasonable  also  to  think  that  those  who  pos-  i  I 
sess  knowledge,    live  more  pleasantly  than  those  who  \  \ 
investigate.     That,  too,  which  is  called  self-sufficiency,  '  ) 
will  especially  subsist  about  the  contemplative  energy.      ' 
For  of  the  necessaries  of  life,  the  wise  and  the  just  man, 
and  the  rest  of  those  who  possess  the  moral  virt:ues,  are 
in  want ;  but  even  when  they  are  sufficiently  supplied 
with   these,   the  just  man  is  in  want  of  those  towards 
whom,  and  together  with  whom,  he  may  act  justly  ;  and 
in  like  manner  the  temperate  and  the  brave  man,  and 
each  of  the  rest.     But  the  wise  man  when  alone  is  able 
to  contemplate  ;  and  by  how  much  the  wiser  he  is,  by  so 
much  the  more  does  he  possess  this  ability.      Perhaps,  , 
indeed,  he  will  contemplate  better  when  he  has  others  to  |. 
co-operate  with  him  ;  but  at  the  same  time  he  is  most  ' 
sufficient  to  himself.      This  energy  alone,  likewise,  will    \ 
appear  to  be  beloved  for  its  own  sake,  for  nothing  else  is    \ 
produced   from   it   besides   contemplation.      But  from     ' 


392 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK    X; 


I 


things  of  a  practical  nature  we  obtain  something  more  or 
less   besides  the  action  itself.     Felicity  also  appears  to 
consist  in  leisure  :  for  we  engage  in  business  that  we  may 
jbe  at  leisure,  and  we  wage  war  that  we  may  live  in  peace. 
JThe  energies   therefore  of  the  political    virtues  consist 
either  in  political  or  in  military  transactions ;  but  the  ac- 
tions  which  are  conversant  with  these  appear  to  be  full  of 
employment.     This  indeed   is   perfectly  the  case  with 
military  transactions :  for  no  ©ne  chooses  to  wage  war, 
or  prepare  for  it,  for  the  sake  of  waging  war ;  since  he 
would  appear  to  be  perfectly  a  homicide  who  should 
make  enemies  of  his  friends  for  the  sake  of  fighting  and 
'^^  slaughter.     The  energy  too  of  the  politician  is  of  a  busy 
^.  nature,  and,  besides  the  management  of  public  affairs,  is 
'^  employed  in  procuring  dominion  and  honour,  or  a  felicity 
for  himself  and  the  citizens  different  from  the  political- 
energy,  which,  also,  as  something  different,  we  evidently 
investigate.     If,  therefore,  political  and  military  actions 
surpass  in  beauty  and  magnitude  all  other  virtuous  ac- 
tions, but  these  are  of  a  busy  nature,  aspire  after  a  certain 
end,  and  are  not  eligible  for  their  own  sakes;  but  the 
energy  of  intellect,  which  is  contemplative,  appears  to 
j  excel  other  energies  in  ardor,  and  to  desire  no  other  end 
'  besides  itself;  if  also  it  possesses  a  proper  pleasure,  which 
increases  its  energy,  and  has,  in  addition  to  this,   self- 
sufficiency,  leisure,  and  unwearied  power,  so  far  as  the 
condition  of  human  nature  will  permit,  with  whatever 
else  is  attributed  to  the  blessed,  and  appears  to  subsist  ac-. 
cording  to  this  energy  ;— if  such  be  the  case,  this  will  be 
the  perfect  felicity  of  man,  when  it  receives  a  perfect 
length  of  life :  for  nothing  belonging  to  felicity  is  imper- 
lect.     Such  a  life,  however,  will  be  more  excellent  than 
that  which  is  merely  human  5  for  man  will  not  thus  live  so 


i 


chap:  VII. 


ETHICS. 


393, 


far  as  he  is  man,  but  so  far  as  he  contains  in  himself  some-    / 
thing  divine.  And  as  much  as  this  part  excels  the  composite, 
so  much  does  its  energy  surpass  the  energy  belonging  to 
every  other  virtue.     If,  therefore,  intellect  is  divine  with 
respect  to  man,  the  life,  also,  according  to  intellect  will 
be  divine  with  respect  to  human  life.     Nor  ought  we, 
according  to  the  exhortation  of  certain  persons,  to  be 
{Wise  in  human  affairs,  since  we  are  men,  nor  to  regard  \ 
jmortal  concerns,  since  we  are  mortal ;  but  as  much  as    f^^ 
J>ossible  we  should  immortalize  ourselves,  and  do  every 
thing  in  order  to  live  according  to  our  most  excellent : 
ipart.     For  this  part,  though  it  is  small  in  bulk,  far  excels  * 
11  things  in  power  and  dignity.      It  would  seem,  also, 
that  each  of  us  is  this  part,'  since  that  which  obtains  do- 
minion is  also  more  excellent.     It  would  therefore  be 
absurd  for  a  nxan  not  to  choose  his  own  life,  but  the  life 
of  something  else.     That  too  which  was  before  asserted, 
accords  with  what  is  now  said  :  for  that  which  is  inti- 
mately allied  to  any  nature  is  most  excellent  and  pleasant 
to  that  nature ;  and  hence,  a  life  according  to  intellect  I 
will  be  most  excellent  and  pleasant  to  man,  since  this   \ 
part  is  most  eminently  man.     This  life,  therefore,  is  also 
most  happy. 

'  The  true  man,  both  according  to  Aristotle  and  Plato,  is  intel-    \ 
lect  :  for  the  essence  of  every  thing  is  the  summit  of  its  nature.  j 


» V  •' 


I 


■^f 


394 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOKX. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


But  that  felicity  ranks  in  the  second  place  which  sub- 
sists according  to  another  virtue;'  for  the  energies  ac- 
cording to  this  virtue  are  human.  For  we  act  justly  and 
bravely,  and  perform  other  things  conformable  to  the 
virtues,  towards  each  other,  in  contracts,  in  necessaries, 
in  all-various  actions,  and  in  the  passions,  preserving  to 
every  one  that  which  is  fit  and  decorous.  All  these 
things,  however,  appear  to  be  human.  Some  things,, 
likewise,  appear  to  happen  from  the  body,  and  the  virtue 
of  manners  is  in  many  instances  conjoined,  and  rendered 
familiar  with  the  passions.  Prudence,  also,  is  conjoined  with 
the  virtue  of  manners,  and  the  virtue  of  manners  with  pru- 
dence ;  since  the  principles,  indeed,  of  prudence  subsist  ac- 
cording to  the  ethical  virtues,  and  the  rectitude  of  the  ethi- 
cal virtues  subsists  according  to  prudence.  These, however, 
are  connected  with  the  passions,  and  will  subsist  about  the 
composite  [or  that  which  consists  of  soul  and  body]. 
But  the  virtues  of  the  composite  are  human.  The  life, 
therefore,  and  the  felicity  conformable  to  them,  will  also 
be  human.  The  felicity,  however,  of  intellect  is  separate ; 


Viz.  The  felicity  which  consists  in  an   active   life,  or   in   the 
exercise  of  prudence,  and  the  moral  virtues. 


CHAP.  VIII, 


ETHIOS. 


395 


for  thus  much  may  be  asserted  concerning  it;'  since  to 
discuss  it   accurately  is  a  greater  undertaking  than  is 
adapted  to  the  present  treatise.     It  would  also  seem  that 
this  felicity  requires  but  little  of  external   supply,  or  less 
than^  ethical    felicity.     For  let  it  be  admitted  that  both 
require  necessaries,  and  this  equally  ;  (though  the  politi- 
cal character  labours  in  a  greater  degree  about  the  bodv 
and  things  of  this  kind)  since  this  is  but  of  small  conse- 
quence ;  yet  it  makes  a  great  difference  with  respect  to 
energies.     For  the  liberal  man  will  be  in  want  of  wealth, 
I  in  order  to  perform  liberal  deeds,  and  also  the  just  man, 
in  order  to  make  retributions.     For  the  wills  of  men  are 
immanifest,  and  those  who  are  not  just  pretend  they  wish 
to  act  justly.     But  the  brave  man  will  be  in  want  of  pow- 
er, in  order  to  effect  something  conformable  to  the  virtue 
of  fortitude ;  and  the  temperate  man  will  be  in  want  of 
the  means   of  acting  temperately.     For  how  will  this 
man,  or  he  who  possesses  any  one  of  the  other  virtues, 
become  manifest  ?     It  becomes,  however,  an   object  of 
inquiry,  whether  deliberate  choice  possesses  greater  au- 
thority in  virtue,  or  whether  it  is  possessed  by  actions, 
virtue  subsisting  in  both  these.     It  is  evident,  therefore* 
that  the  perfect  will  be  in  both.     But  many  things  are 
requisite  to  the  perfection  of  actions  ;  and  in  proportion 
as  they  are  greater  and  more  beautiful,  a  greater  number 
of  things  are  necessary.     To  him,  however,  who  ener- 
gizes according  to  theoretic  virtue,  there  is  no  need  of 
things  of  this  Idnd  so  far  as  pertains  to  this  energy,  but, 
as  I  may  say,  they  are  impediments  to  his  contempla- 
tion.    Yet  so  far  as  he  is  a  man,  and  lives  with  many 


'  Aristotle  says  this,  because  he  professedly  discusses  these  things 
m  the  3rd  book  of  his  treatise  On  tlie  Soul. 


SD6 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  X. 


Others,  he  also  chooses  to  perform  actions  conformable 
to  virtue.  He  will  therefore  require  external  things  in 
order  that  he  may  act  like  a  man. 

But  that  perfect  felicity  is  a  certain  contemplative  ener- 
gy, may  become  apparent  from  hence,  that  we  consider 
the  gods  to  be  especially  blessed  and  happy.  What  kind 
jof  actions,  however,  is  it  fit  to  ascribe  to  them  ?  Shall 
we  say  just  actions  ?  Or  will  they  not  appear  ridiculous, 
if  they  form  contracts  and  return  deposits,  and  do  other 
things  of  the  like  kind  ?  Shall  we  say  then  that  they  are 
brave;  sustaining  things  of  a  terrible  nature,  and  en- 
countering dangers  because  it  is  beautiful  so  to  do  ?  Or 
that  they  are  liberal  ?  But  to  whom  will  they  give  ?  It 
would,  however,  be  absurd  to  suppose  that  there  is  mo- 
ney with  them,  or  any  thing  of  this  kind.  And  if  they 
are  temperate,  what  will  this  temperance  be  ?  Or  is  not 
the  praise  unapt  which  celebrates  them  as  not  having  de- 
praved desires  ?  But  if  we  should  enumerate  every  thing 
pertaining  to  actions,  it  would  appear  to  be  small  and  un- 
worthy of  the  gods.'  All  men,  however,  acknowledge 
that  they  live ;  and  therefore  that  they  energize  ;  for  it 
must  not  be  supposed  that  they  pass  their  life  in  sleep 
like  Endymion.     Hence,  if  action  is  taken  away  from 


*  All  the  virtues  subsist  in  divinity,  but  according  to  a  divine 
and  not  a  human  characteristic ;  for  the  virtues  are  good,  and  all 
goodness  originates  from  divinity.  Prior,  likewise,  to  beings  which 
sometimes  participate  the  virtues,  as  is  our  case,  it  is  necessary  there 
should  be  natures  which  always  participate  them.  Aristotle,  therefore, 
when  he  excludes  from  the  gods  all  the  virtues  except  the  theoretic, 
intends  only  to  signify  that  they  do  not  subsist  in  them  as  they  do 
in  us,  but  are  in  them  essentially  different,  as  being  characterized 
by  a  divine  intellect. 


CHAP.  VIII. 


ETHICS. 


807 


that  which  lives,  and  in  a  still  greater  degree  production, 

what  remains  except  contemplation  ?     So  that  the  energy 

lof  God,  since  it  excels  in  blessedness,  will  be  contempla- 

itive.'     And  of  human  energies,  therefore^  that  which  is 


■  This  contemplative  energy  of  divinity  is  beautifully  illustrated 
by  Proclus  as  follows,  in  his  admirable  MS.  Commentary  on  the 
Parmenides  of  Plato  : — "  It  is  by  no  means  proper  to  disbelieve  in 
the  indivisible  knowledge  of  divinhy,  which  knows  sensibles  with- 
out possessing  sense,  and  divisible  natures  without  possessing  a  di- 
visible energy,  and  which,  without  being  present  to  things  in  place, 
knows  them  prior  to  all  local  presence,  and  imparts  to  every  thing 
that  which  every  thing  is  capable  of  receiving.     The    unstable 
essence,  therefore,  of  apparent  natures  is  not  known  by  him  in  an 
unstable,  but  in  a  definite  manner ;  nor  does  he  know  that  which 
is  subject  to  all-various  mutations  dubiously,  but  in  a  manner  per- 
petually the  same.     For  by  knowing  himself,  he  knows  every  thing 
of  which  he  is  the  cause,  possessing  a  knowledge  transcendently 
more  accurate  than  that  which  is  co-ordinate  to  the  objects  of  know- 
ledge ;  since   a  casual   knowledge   of  every  thing  is  superior  to 
every  other  kind  of  knowledge.     Divinity,  therefore,  knows,  with- 
out busily  attending  to  the  objects  of  his  intellection,  because  he 
•abides  in  himself,  and,  by  alone  knowing  himself,  knows  all  things. 
Nor  is  he  indigent  of  sense,  or  opinion,  or  science,  in  order  to  know 
sensible  natures ;  for  it  is  himself  that  produces  all  these,  and  that, 
in  the  unfathomable  depths  of  the  intellection  of  himself,  compre- 
hends an  united  knowledge  of  them,  according  to  cause,  and  in  one 
simplicity  of  perception.     Just  as  if  some  one  having  built  a  ship, 
should  place  in  it  men  of  his  own  formation,  and,  in  consequence  cf 
possessing  a  various  art,  should  add  a  sea  to  the  ship,  produce  certain 
winds,  and  afterwards  launch  the  ship  into  the  new-created  main. 
Let   us   suppose  too,  that  he  causes  these  to  have  an  existence  by 
merely  conceiving  them  to  exist,  so  that  by  imagining  all  this  to 
take  place,  he  gives  an  external  subsistence  to  his  inward   phan- 
tacms  ;  it  is  evident  that,  in  this  case,  he  will  contain  the  cause  of 
every  thing  which  happens  to  the  ship  through  the  wnads  on  the 
sea,  and  that  by  contemplating  his  own  conceptions,  without  being 
indigent  of  outward  conversion,  he  will  at  the  same  time  both  ta- 


398 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  X. 


I  most  allied  to  this  [energy  of  God,]  will  be  most  adapted 
'to  procure  felicity.     But  as  an  indication  of  the  truth  of 
this,  other  animals  which  are  perfectly  deprived  of  an 
energy  of  this  kind,  do  not  partake  of  felicity.     For  the 
whole  life  of  the  gods  is  indeed  blessed ;  but  that  of 
men  is  blessed  so  far  as  they  possess  a  certain  similitude 
of  such  an  energy  as  this.     Of  other  animals,  however, 
ho  one  is  happy,  because  they  do  not  in  any  respect  par- 
ticipate of  contemplation.  As  far,  therefore,  as  contempla- 
tion extends  itself,  so  far  also  is  felicity  extended ;  and  the 
felicity  of  those  beings  is  greater,  in  whom  there  is  more 
of  the  contemplative  energy;  and  this  not  from  accident, 
but  according  to  contemplation  ;  for  this  is  of  itself  ho- 
nourable.   Hence,  felicity  will  be  a  certain  contemplation. 

bricate  and  know  these  external  particulars.     Thus,  and  In  a  far 
greater  degree,  that  divine  intellect  the  artificer   of  the   universe, 
possessing  the  causes  of  all  things,  both  gives  subsistence  to,    and 
contemplates  whatever  the  universe  contains,   without  departing 
from  the  speculation  of  himself     But  if  with  respect  to  intellect, 
one  kind  is  more  partial,  and  another  more  total,  it  is  evident  that 
there  is  not  the  same  intellectual  perfection  of  all  things,  but  that 
where  intelligibles  have  a  more  total  and  undistributed  subsistence, 
there  the  knowledge  is  more  total  and  indivisible,   and  where  the 
number  of  forms  proceeds  into  multitude  and  extension,  there  the 
knowledge  is  both  one  and  multiform.     Hence,  this  being  admitted, 
we  cannot  wonder  on  hearing  the  Orphic  verses,  in  which  the  the- 
ologist  says : 

AvTTt  Oi  ZtiVOg  KXf   £»  6U^,SC(ri  TTCCr^O^  UVXKTO^f 


1.  e. 


There,  in  the  sight  of  Jove  the  parent  king, 
Th'  immortal  gods  and  mortal  men  reside, 
With  all  that  ever  was,  and  shall  hereafter  be." 


y^^ 


GHAP.  VIII. 


ETHICS. 


f 


399 


j^ 


/ 


.^ 


External  prosperity,  however,  will  be  requisite  [to  ^ivci 
.who  energizes  according  to  theoretic  virtue,]  since  he  is 
a  man ;  for  human  nature  is  not  sufficient  to  itself  for  the 
purposes  of  contemplation  ;  but  it  is  also  requisite  that 
the  body  should  be  well,  and  that  it  should  be  supplied 
with  food,  and  other  necessaries.  It  must  not,  however, 
be  supposed,  that  because  it  is  not  possible  for  a  man  to 
be  blessed  without  external  goods,  the  happy  man  will 
therefore  require  many  of  these,  and  such  as  are  great ; 
for  neither  a  condition  of  being  sufficient  to  itself,  nor 
judgment,  nor  action,  consists  in  an  excess  [of  external 
goods].  But  it  is  possible  for  those  who  have  nO'  domi- 
nion over  the  earth  and  sea  to  perform  beautiful  deeds ; 
since  a  man,  from  moderate  possessions,  may  be  able  to 
act  according  to  virtue.  The  truth  of  this,  however,  may 
be  clearly  seen  ;  for  private  persons  appear  to  act  no  less 
equitably,  but  even  more  so  than  potentates.  But  mo- 
derate  possessions  are  sufficient  for  this  purpose ;  for  the 
life  of  him  will  be  happy  who  energizes  according  to 
virtue.  And  Solon  perhaps  well  defined  those  who 
,  are  happy,  by  saying,  that  they  are  such  as  are  mode- 
rately furnished  with  external  possessions,  and  who  per- 
form the  most  beautiful  actions,  and  live  temperately ; 
since  It  is  possible  for  those  whose  possessions  are  but 
moderate,  to  do  those  things  which  ought  to  be  done. 
Anaxagoras  likewise  appears  to  have  thought  that  the 
happy  man  was  neither  the  rich  man  nor  the  potentate, 
when  he  says,  **  that  it  would  not  be  at  all  wonderful, 
if  I  should  be  considered  by  the  multitude  as  an  absurd 
and  miserable  man.**  For  the  multitude  judge  from! 
external  circumstances,  having  a  sensible  perception  oP 
these  alone.  The  opinions,  also,  of  the  wise  seem  to 
accord  with  these  assertions.     Things  of  this  kind,  there- 


i 


XM  iWeA 


•'> 


400 


THE  NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  X, 


CHAP.  fX. 


ETHICS. 


401 


fore,  are  attended  with  a  certain  credibility.  A  judg- 
ment, however,  is  to  be  formed  of  the  truth  in  practical 
affairs  from  deeds  and  the  life ;  for  in  these  that  which 
possesses  principal  authority  consists.  Hence,  it  is  re- 
quisite to  consider  what  has  been  before  said,  by  referring 
it  to  deeds  and  the  life  of  a  man.  And  when  the  as- 
sertions accord  with  deeds,  they  are  to  be  admitted ;  but 
when  they  are  dissonant,  they  are  to  be  considered  as 
nothing  but  words.  But  the  man  who  energizes  accord- 
ing to  intellect,  who  cultivates  this,  and  is  mentally  dis- 
posed in  the  best  manner,  is  also,  it  would  seem,  most 
dear  to  divinity.  For  if  any  attention  is  paid  by 
the  gods  to  human  affairs,  as  it  appears  there  is,  it 
is  also  reasonable  to  suppose  that  they  will  be  delighted 
with  that  which  is  most  excellent,  and  most  allied  to 
themselves ;  but  this  is  intellect ;  and  likewise  that  they 
will  remunerate  those  who  especially  love  and  honour 
this,  as  taking  care  of  that  which  is  dear  to  themselves, 
and  acting  rightly  and  well.  It  is,  however,  not  imma- 
xiifest,  that  all  these  things  are  especially  present  with  the 
wise  man.  Hence,  he  is  most  dear  to  divinity.  It  is 
also  probable  that  the  same  man  is  most  happy.  So 
that  thus,  also,  the  wise  man  will  be  especially  happy. 


■*  * 

v 


CHAPTER    IX. 


Are  we  therefore  to  think,  that  if  these  things  and 
the  virtues,  and  likewise  friendship  and  pleasure,  have 
been  sufficiently  delineated,  oiir  purpose  is  completely 
effected  ?  Or  shall  we  say,  as  has  been  before  observed, 
.that  the  end  in  practical  aflfairs  is  not  to  survey  and  know 
each  particular,  but  rather  to  perform  it?  Ndther, 
therefore,  is  it  sufficient  in  virtue  to  know  it,  biit  there 
should  also  be  an  endeavour  to  possess  and  use  it;  or  in 
some  other  way  must  we  strive  to  become  good  men  ?  If, 
therefore,  words  were  sufficient  of  themselves  to  make 
men  worthy,  they  ought  justly,  as  Theognis  says,  to  be 
valued  at  a  great  price,  and  it  would  be  necessary  to  pro- 
cure them.  Now,  however,  they  appear  to  be  suffi- 
ciently powerful  to  exhort  and  excite  liberal  young  men, 
and  to  make  those  whose  manners  are  noble,  and  who 
are  truly  lovers  of  beautiful  conduct,  obedient  to  virtue  ; 
but  they  are  incapable  of  exhorting  the  multitude  to  pro- 
bity.  For  the  multitude  are  not  naturally  adapted  to  be 
obedient  from  shame,  but  from  fear ;  nor  to  abstain  from 
bad  conduct  through  the  disgrace  with  which  it  is  at- 
Arist.  VOL.  n.  2  b 


402 


THE    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  X. 


CHAP.  IX. 


El'HICS. 


403 


tended,  but  through  punishment.  For,  living  from  pas- 
sion, they  pursue  their  pleasures,  and  those  things 
through  which  they  may  be  procured ;  but  they  avoid 
the  pains  opposed  to  these.  They  have  not,  however, 
any  conception  of  that  which  is  beautiful  in  conduct,  and 
truly  delectable,  in  consequence  of  not  having  tasted  of 
it.  What  discourse,  therefore,  can  dispose  such  men  to 
orderly  conduct?  For  it  is  not  possible,  or  at  feast  it  is 
not  easy,  to  obliterate  by  words,  things  which  have  been 
for  a  long  time  impressed  in  the  manners.  But  perhaps 
we  must  be  satisfied,  if  every  thing  being  present  with 
us,  through  which  we  are  accustomed  to  become  wor- 
thy, we  may  be  able  to  partake  of  virtue. 

Some,  however,  are  of  opinion  t^iat  men  become  good 
from  nature,  others  that  they  become  good  from  custom, 
and  others  from  doctrine.  As  to  goodness  from  nature, 
therefore,  it  is  evident  that  this  is  not  in  our  power,  but 
that  it  is  inherent  in  those  who  are  truly  fortunate,  through 
a  certain  divine  cause.  But  it  must  be  considered  whe- 
ther it  is  not  true,  that  words  and  precepts  are  not  ac- 
companied with  power  towards  all  men,  but  it  is  requi- 
site that  the  soul  of  the  auditor  should  have  been  pre- 
viously excited  by  manners,  to  rejoice  and  hate  properly, 
like  land  which  is  intended  to  nourish  seed.  For  he  who 
lives  under  the  influence  of  passion,  will  not  attend  to  the 
reasoning  which  dissuades  him  from  such  a  life.  How, 
therefore,  is  it  possible  to  induce  one  who  is  so  disposed, 
to  alter  his  mode  of  conduct  ?  In  short,  passion  does 
not  appear  to  yield  to  reason,  but  to  violence.  Hence, 
it  IS  necessary,  that  manners  should  pre-exist,  in  a  certain 
respect  appropriate  to  virtue,  in  order  that  their  possessor 
may  love  what  is  beautiful,  and  be  mdignant  with  what  is 


disgraceful  in  conduct..  '  To  obtain,  however,  a  right 
education  for  virtue,  from  our  youth,  is  difficult,  without 
being  nurtured  by  laws  which  enforce  the  offices  of  vir- 
tue. For  to  live  temperately  and  accustomed  to  endur- 
ance, is  not  pleasing  to  the  multitude,  and  especially  to 
youth.  Hence,  it  is  necessary  that  education,  studies  and 
pursuits^  should  be  ordained  by  laws  ;  for  by  custom  they 
will  cease  to  be  painful.  But  perhaps  it  is  not  sufficient 
for  youth  to  obtain  a  right  education,  and  to  have  pro- 
per attention  paid  to  them,  but  it  is  also  necessary,  when 
they  have  arrived  at  the  perfection  of  manhood,  that 
they  should  study  and  be*  accustomed  to  these  things ; 
and  in  these  we  shall  hkewise  require  the  assistance  of 
the  laws  ;  and  in  short,  through  the  whole  of  life.  For 
the  multitude  are  more  obedient  to  necessity  than  to  rea- 
•son,  and  to  punishment  than  to  the  beautiful  in  conduct. 

• 

Hence,    some   persons  are  of   opinion  that   legislators 
ought  indeed  to  excite   men  to  virtue,  and  exhort  them 
to  it  for  the  sake  of  the  beautiful  in  conduct,   because 
-worthy  men  will  precedaneously  from   their   manners 
obey  their  exhortations ;  but  that  castigations  and  pu- 
nishments should  be  inflicted  on  those  who  disobey  them, 
and  who  are  naturally  more  unapt;  and  that   the  in- 
curable should  beentirely  exterminated  from  the  com- 
munity.    For,  say  they,  the  worthy  man,  and  he  who 
lives  with  a  view  to  the  beautiful  in  conduct,  will  be  obe- 
dient to  reason;  but  the  bad  man  who  aspires  after  ple^. 
sure,  is  to  be  punished  by  pain,  like  a  beast  of  burden. 
,  Hence,  they  add,  it  is  necessary  that  such  pains  should 
be  employed,  as  are  especially  contrary  to  the  pleasures 
which  they  embrace.  * 

....  •       .•' 

If,  therefore,  as  we  have  said,  it  is  requisite  that  he 


»•■' 


r 


Mi 


4- 


f 


404 


THE     NICOMACHJEAN 


BOOK  X. 


t  * 


I 


sV. 


i 


who  is  to  be  a  good  man  should  be  .well  educated,  and 
accustomed  to  virtuous  conduct,  and  afterwards  should 
thus  live  in  worthy  studies  and  pursuits,  and  neither  un- 
willingly nor  willingly  perform  base  deeds;  and  if  these 
things  may  happen  to  those  who  live  conformably  to  a 
certain  intellect  and  right  order,  possessing  power: and 
.strength ;— if  this  be  the  case,  the  paternal  mandate,  in- 
.  deed,  is  neither  accompanied  with  strength  nor  necessity, 
nor.  in  short  the  mandate  of  one  man,  unless  he  is  a  king, 
or  a  person  endued  with  a  similar  authoruy  \  but  the 
law  possesses  a  necessarily-compelling   power,  being  a 
mandate  proceeding  from  a  certain  prudence  and  intellect. 
And  those,  indeed,  who  are  adverse  to  the  impulses  of 
depraved  men,   though  they  are  right  in  so  doing;  are 
abated  [by  the  multitude].     Law,  however, ' when  it  orr 
dains  what  is  equitable,  is  not  attended  with  molestation. 
But  in  the  city  of  the  Lacedaemonians  alone,-^'  the  legisla- 
tor  appears  to  have  paid  attention  to  education  and  studies, 
or  pursuits  ;  while  in  most  cities  things  of  this  kind  are 
neglected,  and  every  one,  after  the  manner  of  the  Cy- 
clops,  lives  as  he  pleases. 


By  these  no  statutes  and  no  rights  are  known, 
No  council  held,  no  monarch  fills  thathrone  ; 
But  high  on  hills  or  airy  cliffs  they  dwell, 
Or  deep  in  caves  whose  entrance  leads  to  hell. 
Each  rules  his  race,  his  neighbour  not  his  care. 
Heedless  of  others,  to  his  own  severe. '  ^ 


CHAF,  IX. 


ETHICS. 


,  •  <•  I . 


^.^ 


It  Is  best,  therefore,  that  a  common  and  right  attention 
should  be  paid  to  the  citizens,  and  that  there  should  be 

*  Odyss.  lib.  9.  v.  112,  &c.  Aristotle  quotes  the  last  line  but  one 
only  of  these  verses.     The  translation  is  by  Pope.  '    — •  ■• 


h\ 


405 


f*- 


an  ability  of  effecting  this.     But  if  these  things  are  neg- 
lected in  common,  it  would  seem  to  be  fit  that  every  one 
should  contribute  to  the  promotion  of  his  children  and 
friends  in  virtue,  or  should  pre-determine  to  do  so.    From 
what  has  been  said,  however,  it  would  seem  that  this  may 
especially  be  effected  by  him  who  possesses  the  power  of 
a  legislator.     For  attentions  to  the  general  welfare  are 
effected  through  the  laws ;  but  equitable  attentions  arc 
accomplished  through  worthy  men.     It  does  not,  how- 
ever, seem  to  make  any  difference,  whether  the  laws  are 
written  or  unwritten,  nor  whether  one  person  or  many 
are  disciplined  by  them,  as  neither  does  it  make  any 
difference  in  music,  and  gymnastic  and  other  disciplines. 
For  as  in  cities  legal  institutions  and  manners  are  effica- 
cious, so  in  families  paternal  mandates  and  manners;  and 
they  are  still  more  efficacious  on  account  of  alliance,  and 
the  benefits  conferred  by  parents  on  their  children.    For 
children  previous  to  these  mandates  loved  their  parents, 
and  are  naturally  disposed  to  be  obedient  to  them.     Far- 
ther still,  private  differs  from  public  education,  in  the 
same  manner  as  in  medicme  [particular  differ  from  uni- 
versal prescriptions].    For  univeraally,  indeed,  abstinence 
and  quiet  are  advantageous  to  one  who  has  a  fever;  but 
to  this  particular  person  perhaps  they  are  not.     And  he 
virho  is  a  master  in  the  pugilistic  art  will  not  perhaps  en- 
join the  same  mode  of  fighting  to  all  his  pupils.    It  would 
seem,  however,  that  particulars  will  be  more  accurately 
managed,  when  private  attention  is  paid  to  them ;  for 
then  each  individual  will  in  a  greater  degree  obtain  that 
which  is  adapted  to  him.     But  the  physician,  the  master 
of  gymnastic  exercises,  and  every  other  artist,  will  in  the 
best  manner  pay  attention  to  an  individual^  if  they  know 
universally  what  is  beneficial  to  all  persons,  or  to  persons 


406 


THE    NICOMACHUAN 


BOOK  X. 


of  a  certain  description ;  Jot  sciences  are  said  to  be,  and 
are  in  reality,  of  that  which  is  common.    Nothing,  faowi 
ever,  perhaps  hinders  but  that  a  man  may  pay  attention 
to  one  certain  thing  in  a  proper  manner,  though  he  is 
destitute  of  science,  while  he  accurately  surveys   from 
experience  what  happens  to  each  particular  thing,  just  as 
some  persons  appear  to  be  most  excellent  physidans  to 
themselves,  but  are  unable  to  give  medical  assistance  to 
another  person.    Perhaps,  however,  it  would  seem  [not- 
withstanding  this]  to  be  no  less  requisite  for  him  who 
wishes  to  become  an  artist  and  to  be  theoretic,  to  proceed 
to  that  which  is  universal,  and  to  know  this  as  far  as  it 
can  be   known;  for   we   have   already   observed,  that 
seiences  are  conversant  with  this.     Perhaps  also  it  is  re- 
quisite, that  he  who  wishes  to  make  others  better  by  the 
attention  which  he  pays  to  them,  whether  they  be  many 
or  few,  should  endeavour  to  become  skilled  in  legislation, 
if  we  can  be  rendered  good  men  through  the  laws.    Hence, 
it  16  not  the  province  of  any  casual  person  to  render 
some  man,  or  one  committed  to  his  care,  fitly  disposed 
to  become  virtuous,  but  if  it  belongs  to  any  one  to  effect 
this,  it  is  the  province  of  the  man  of  science  ;  just  as  in 
medicine,  and  the  other  arts,  to  which  a  certain  attention 
and  prudence  pertain.     Is  it  requisite,  therefore,  after  this 
to  consider  whence  or  how  a  man  may  acquire  a  legisla- 
tive  skill  ?  Or,  as  in  other  arts,  is  this  to  be  learned  from 
those  who  are  conversant  with  the  management  of  public 
affairs  ?  For  this  appears  to  be  a  part  of  the  political 
science.     Or  shall  we  say  that  a  similar  thing  does  not 
seem  to  take  place  in  the  political  science,  and  the  other 
sciences  and  powers  ?  For  in  the  others,  the  same  per- 
sons are  seen  to  impart  the  powers,  and  to  energize  from 
them  5  as  is  evideot  in  physicians  and  painters.     But  the 


CHAP.  IX. 


ETHICS. 


407 


sophists  profess  indeed  to  teach  politics,  yet  no  one  of 
them  acts  in  a  political  capacity.  And  it  would  seem 
that  those  who  are  engaged  in  the  management  of  public 
affairs,  do  this  by  a  certain  power  and  experience,  rather 
than  by  the  exercise  of  the  reasoning  faculty.  For  they 
do  not  appear  either  to  write  or  speak  about  things  of  this 
kind,  though  perhaps  this  would  be  better  than  to  com- 
pose forensic  or  popular  orations ;  nor  again,  is  it  seen 
that  they  have  made  either  their  own  children  political 
characters,  or  some  other  children  of  their  friends.  It 
is  reasonable,  however,  to  suppose  that  they  would  have 
done  this,  if  they  had  been  able ;  for  neither  could  they 
have  left  any  thing  better  to  cities,  nor  could  they  have 
deliberately  chosen  any  thing  more  excellent  than  this 
power,  either  for  themselves,  or  their  dearest  friends. 
Nevertheless  experience  appears  to  contribute  in  no  small 
degree  [to  the  management  of  public  affairs ;  J  for  other- 
wise men  would  not  become  more  political  through  be- 
ing accustomed  to  political  affairs.  Hence,  experience 
seems  to  be  necessary  to  those  who  desire  to  be  skilled 
in  the  political  science.  Those  sophists,  however,  who 
profess  to  teach  the  political  science,  appear  to  be  very 
far  from  possessing  this  ability;  for,  in  short,  they  neither 
know  what  kind  of  a  thing  it  is,  nor  what  the  things  are 
with  which  it  is  conversant.  For  if  they  did,  they  would 
not  suppose  it  to  be  the  same  with  the  rhetorical  art,  or 
inferior  to  it ;  nor  would  they  think  it  is  easy  for  him  to 
act  the  part  of  a  legislator,  who  has  collected  the  most 
celebrated  and  approved  laws  ;  since  they  say  that  the  best 
laws  are  to  be  selected,  just  as  if  the  selection  did  not 
require  intelligence,  or  as  if  to  judge  rightly  was  not  one 
of  the  greatest  of  things,  in  the  same  manner  as  in  what 
pertains  to  music.    For  skilful  men  judge  rightly  respect- 


408 


TH£    NICOMACHEAN 


BOOK  X, 


ing  the  works  in  which  they  are  skilled,  and  understand 
through  what  means,  or  in  what  manner  they  may  be  ^ 
accomplished,   and  what  the  appropriate  adaptations  of 
them  are ;  but  to  the  unskilful  it  is  sufficient  not  to  be 
ignorant,  whether  a  work  is  well  or  ill  done,  in  the  same 
manner  as  in  the  painter's  art.    Laws,  however,  resemble 
political  works.    How,  therefore,  can  any  one  be  adapted 
to  become  a  legislator  from  these,  or  to  judge  which  of 
them  are  the  best  ?  For  neither  does  it  appear  that  men 
become  skilled  in  medicine,  by  reading  medical  books  ; 
though  these  books  not  only  endeavour  to  point  out  the 
cures,  but  likewise  the  remedies  which  are  to  be  applied, 
and  the  methods  of  cure,  distinguishing  also  the  habits 
of  each  person.     It  seems,  however,  that  these  things 
are  beneficial  to  skilful  persons,  but  useless  to  the  un- 
scientific.     Perhaps,  therefore,   collections  of  laws  and 
politics  may  be  useful  to  those  who  are  able  to  survey 
and  judge  what  is  well  established  or  the  contrary,  and 
what  the  appropriate  adaptations  are  in  these ;  but  those 
who  discuss  things  of  this  kind  without  the  political  habit, 
will  never  be  able  to  judge  well,  except  from  chance ; 
though  perhaps  they  will  become  more  intelligent  in  these 
particulars.     Since,  therefore,  the  politicians  prior  to  us 
have  omitted  to  investigate  legislation,  it  will  perhaps  be 
better  for  us  to  consider  it  more  attentively,  and  in  short 
to  discuss  a  polity  [universally,]  in  order  that  the  philo- 
sophy which  pertains  to  human  affairs  may  as  much  as 
possible  be  brought  to  perfection.     In  the  first  place, 
therefore,  if  any  thing  has  been  well  said  by  the  ancients 
on  this  subject,  we  shall  endeavour  to  relate  it.     In  the 
next  place,  from  the  collections  which  have  been  made 
of  polities,  we  shall  endeavour  to  survey  what  the  nature 
is  of  the  things  which  preserve  and  corrupt  cities  and  the 


CHAP.  IX. 


ETHICS. 


409 


several  polities,  and  from  what  causes  some  of  them  are 
well  but  others  ill  governed.  For  these  things  being 
surveyed,  perhaps  we  shall  be  able  in  a  greater  degree  to 
perceive  what  kind  of  polity  is  the  best ;  how  each  is  to 
be  arranged,  and  what  laws  and  manners  it  should  use. 
We  shall  begin,  therefore,  the  discussion  of  politics. ' 


'  From  this  It  is  evident  that  the  treatise  on  Poh'tics  ought  imme- 
diately  to  follow  the  Nicomachean  Ethics ;  but  as  there  are  two 
other  treatises  on  Ethics,  viz.  the  Great  and  the  Eudemian  Ethics,  I 
deemed  it  better  to  bring  together  all  that  Aristotle  has  written  oiv 
morals,  previously  to  presenting  the  reader  with  his  Politics, 


FINIS. 


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The   SATIRES    of  AULUS    PERSIUS    FLACCUS, 
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trative  Notes.    8vo. 

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Late  Fellow  ©f  Sidney-Sassex  College,  Cambridge. 

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Undertaken  with  the  assistance  of,  and  in  communication  with,  Persons 

officially  connected  with  the  late  King,  and  Dedicated,  by 

express  Permission,  to  His  present  Majesty. 

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LETTERS    TO    JULIA.       In    Rliyme. 
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With  LINES  WRITTEN  AT  AMPTHILL  PARK.     (A  Second  Edition. 

By  HENRY  LUTTRELL. 

VIII. 

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A  Tragedy,  in  Five  Acts.    8vo. 
By  the  Hon.  and  Rev.  WILLIAM  HERBERT. 

IX. 

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Printed,  for  the  first  time,  uniformly,  and  very  handsomely,  by  Davisotif  in 

5  vols.  8vo.    And  also  in  8  vols.,  fc.  8vo. 

X. 

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To  illustrate  the  Works  of  Crabbe. 

Engraved  by  Heath,  from  the  Drawings  of  Westall.    In  8vo. 

and  small  8vo.,  and  Proofs,  4to. 

XI. 

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Now  first  collected  and  chronologically  arranged,  and  the  Text  carefully  col- 
lated and  restored.    With  occasional  Notes,  and  a  Biographical 

and  Critical  Essay. 

By  WILLIAM  GIFFORD,  Esq. 

In  Six  volumes  octavo,  uniformly  with  MASSINGER  and  BEN  JONSON 

One  Hundred  Copies  are  printed  on  royal  8vo. 

xn. 

MEMOIRS  of  the  LIFE  and  REIGN  of  KING  CHARLES 

THE  SECOND ; 

Being  a  particular  Account  of  his  Court,  and  the  Manners  of  his  time,  from  the 

Death  of  his  Father  in  1648,  to  his  own  in  1685.    Collected  from  several 

curious  Works  of  that  period  of  History,  and  containing  many  MS. 

Letters  of  that  Monarch  and  his  Friends,  never  before  published. 

One  volume,  8vo. 

By  CHARLES  HENRY  HALL. 


PREPARING  FOR  PUBLICATION. 


XIH. 


MEMOIRS  of  the  LAST  NINE  YEARS  of  the  REIGN  of 

GEORGE  II. 

By  HORACE  WALPOLE,  EARL  OF  ORFORD. 

From  the  original  MSS.,  found  in  the  chest  left  by  his  Lordship's  Will  to  be 
opened  by  the  first  Earl  of  Waldegrave  who  should  attain  the  age  of 
Twenty-one  after  the  year  1800.    2  vols.,  4to. 

'  "The  Reader  has  now  seen  these  Memoirs,  and  though  some,  who  know  mankind,  and 
the  various  foll.es,  faults,'and  virtues  that  are  blended  in  our  imperfect  natures,  may  smile 
^ith  me  at  this  free  relation  of  what  I  have  seen  and  known,  yet  I  am  aware  that  more  will 
be  offended  at  the  liberty  I  have  taken  in  paiuting  men  as  they  are;  and  that  manv,  from 
private  connexions  of  party  and  family,  will  dislike   meeting  such  unflattered  portraits  of 

written'[rn?;  Tl  '^''''""•-  ""''  ^'"'  '  '''''    "^"^^  ^>"«y'  ^  '"^^  --  -  -y  history 

"  Thus  much  I  shall  premise:   If  I  had  intended  a  romance,  I  would  not  have  chosen  real 

fntZT  I-  *'%''^*'"  '°  •^'  '^^  ™^°  ^^"^  "^  '""^  P»«-°-  Of  perfect  virtue.  If  I  had 
ntended  a  satire,  I  would  not  have  amassed  so  many  facts,  which  if  not  true  would  only 
tend  to  discredit  the  Author,  not  those  he  may  censure.  Yet  councils  and  transrctions  not 
pe  sons,  are  what  I  any  where  mean  to  blame.  The  celebrated  Bayle  has  indeed  offerera 
notable  excuse  for  all  who  may  offend  on  the  severer  side:-'  The  perfection  of  hTsto,?'!av^ 
he,  '1,  when  it  displeases  all  sects  and  all  nations,  this  being  a  proo'f  that  the  A«    or  ndth L 

am  not  7%?^'  ""^  f  k'^"'  '"'  *^"'  ''^  '''''''  *«  ^"  P-ti-.'-A  latitude  this,  n  wll-h  I 
ITich  h  ;  1''^r  ""'  ''"°"  comprehended,  nor  very  reconcileable  with  a  notion  of  hi  ory 
which  he  has  laid  down  in  another  place.  "isiory 

"For  the  facts,  Buch  as  were  not  public,  I  received  chiefly  from  my  father  and  Mr.  Fox 
both  men  of  veracity,  and  some  from  communication  with  the  Dukb  of  Bedkoku  at  the  very 
time  they  were  in  agitation.  I  am  content  to  rest  their  authenticity  on  the  sincerity  of  such 
men;  at  the  same  time,  I  beg  it  may  be  remembered,  that  I  never  assert  any  thing  positive! v 
unless  from  very  good  authority;  and  it  may  be  observed,  that  where  I  am  not  certain  I 
always  say,  H  was  said,  it  was  believed,  it  was  supposed,  or  u»e  some  such  phrase  "l 
Extract/rom  Lord  Orford's  Postscript. 


XIV. 
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EDWARD  IV.  and  V.,  RICHARD  III.,  and  HENRY  VII., 

By  various  Persons  of  Rank  or  Consequence,  containing  many  curious  Anec- 

dotes,  relative  to  that  turbulent,  bloody,  but  hitherto  dark,  period  of 

our  History  ;  and  elucidating,  not  only  Public  Matters  of  State, 

but  likewise  the  Private  Manners  of  the  Age  ; 

Digested  in  Chronological  Order ;   with  Notes,  Historical  and  Explanatory ; 

and  authenticated  by  Engravings  of  Portraits,  Autographs, 

Fac-Similes,  Paper  Marks  and  Seals. 

By  the  late  Sir  JOHN  FENN,  Knt.  M.A.,  F.A.S. 
2  vols.  4to      Vols.  V.  and  VI. 


PREPARING  FOR  PUBLICATION. 


XV. 
The  LIFE   of  the  RIGHT  HON.  R.  B.  SHERIDAN.    4to. 
By    THOMAS   MOORE,   Esq., 

Author  of  Lalla  Rookb. 

XVI. 

HISTORICAL  MEMOIRS  of  the  ENGLISH,  IRISH,  and 

SCOTTISH  CATHOLICS,  since  the  Reformation. 

With  a  Succinct  Account  of  the  Principal  Events  in  the  Ecclesiastical  History 
of  this  Country  antecedent  to  that  period,  and  in  the  Histories  of  the 
Established  Church,  and  the  Dissenting  and  Evangelical  Congrega- 
tions ;  and  some  Historical  Minutes  respecting  the  Guelphic 
Family,  and  the  Society  of  Jesus. 

Third  Edition,  corrected,  revised,  and  considerably  augmented,  4  vols.  8vo. 

By  CHARLES  BUTLER,  Esq. 

xvn. 

And,  by  the  same  Author, 
REMINISCENCES.     One  volume  8vo. 

XVIIl. 

A  SKETCH  of  the  STATE  of  IRELAND,  Past  and  Present. 

A  New  Edition,   Octavo,  revised  by  the  Author, 

Dedicated  to  the  Marquis  Wellesley. 

XIX. 
TRAVELS  IN  ETHIOPIA, 
Containing    a  Description  of  the  hitherto-unexplored    Countries   of   DAR 
MAHASS,  DO'NGOLA,  and  DAR  SHEYGY'A  ;  Accounts  of  the  Man- 
ners and  Character  of  the  Natives,  and  a  History  of  the  Expulsion  of 
the  Mamelouks  from  D6ngola,  and  the  Campaign  of  Ismael  Pasha 

against  the  Sheygy'a  Arabs. 

The  Work  will  be  illustrated  by  a  Chart  of  the  Course  of  the  Nile  through  those 

Countries  ;  with  Remarks  on  the  probable  Situation  of  the  antient  Cities; 

and  by  numerous  Plans  and  Drawings  of  the  Pyramids,  and 

other  Antiquities  there  discovered.    4to. 

By  GEORGE  WADDINGTON,  Esq.,   A.M., 
Fellow  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge  ; 

And  the  Reverend  BARNARD  HANBURY,  A.M 

Of  Jesus'  College. 


iinttMiilhiii^uHh^MMiitt 


PREPARING  FOR  PUBLICATION. 


XX. 

HISTORY  of  the  LATE  WAR  in  SPAIN  and  PORTUGAL. 

Three  Vols.  Quarto. 
By  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  Esq. 
The  First  Volume  is  nearly  ready  for  Publication. 

XXI. 
TRAVELS  in  SYRIA  and  MOUNT  SINAI, 
With  Maps,  &c.  4to. 
By  the  late  JOHN  LEWIS  BURCKHARDT. 

Viz.  1.  A  Journey  from  Aleppo  to  Damascus.-2.  A  Tour  in  the  District  of  Mount  Libanus 
and  Antilibanus.-3.  A  Tour  in  the  Hauran— 4.  A  Second  Tour  in  the  Hanran.-5.  A  Jonrnev 
froni  Damascus  through  Arabia  Petr«a.  and  the  Desert  El  Ty,  to  Cairo.-O.  A  Tour  in  the 
Pcnmsnla  of  Mount  Sinai. 


XXII. 

NARRATIVE  of  the  OPERATIONS  and  RECENT 
DISCOVERIES  within  the  PYRAMIDS,  TEMPLES,  TOMBS   and 
EXCAVATIONS  in  EGYPT  and  NUBIA. 
By  G.  BELZONI. 

Third  Edition,  2  Volumes  Octavo. 

XXIII. 

MEMOIR,   descriptive    of  the  HYDROGRAPHY,    RESOURCES, 

and  INHABITANTS  of  SICILY  and  its  ISLANDS. 

Interspersed  with  Antiquarian  and  other  Notices.    With  12  Plates,  Quarto. 
By  Captain  WILLIAM  HENRY  SMYTH,  R.  N.,  K.S.  F. 

Fellow  of  the  Astronomical  and  Antiquarian  Societies  of  London. 
Dedicated  by  Permission  to  the  Lords  Commissioners  of  the  AdmiraUy. 

XXIV. 

A  DESCRIPTION  of  the  ANTIQUITIES  and  OTHER 

CURIOSITIES  of  ROME.     8vo. 

By  the  Reverend  EDWARD  BURTON,  M.A., 

Student  of  Christ  Church. 

XXV. 

LETTERS  of  MARY  LEPEL,  LADY  HERVEY. 

With  a  Memoir,  and  illustrative  Notes.    8vo. 


PREPARING  FOR  PUBLICATION. 


XXVI. 


An  ACCOUNT  of  the  ABIPONES, 
An  EQUESTRIAN  PEOPLE  in  the  INTERIOR  of  SOTITH  AMERICA, 

Translated  from  the  Original  Latin  of  Martin  Dobrizhoffer,  one 

of  the  Ex-Jesuits,  two-and- twenty  years  a  Missionary 

in  Paraguay.    2  vols.  8vo. 

"  The  Abipones  have  been  in  one  thing  fortunate  above  all  other  savages ;  for  the  history 
of  their  manners  and  fortunes  by  Martin  Dobrizhoffer,  a  German  Jesuit,  who  devoted  the 
prime  of  his  years  to  the  task  of  converting  them,  and  in  old  age,  after  the  extinction  of  his 
order,  found  consolation  in  recording  the  knowledge  which  he  had  so  painfully  acquired, 
and  the  labours  which  had  so  miserably  been  frustrated,  is,  of  all  books  relating  to  savage  life, 
the  most  curious,  and,  in  every  respect,  the  most  interesting.— SouTHEV,  in  his  History  of 
the  Brazils. 

XXVII. 

The  BOOK  of  the  CHURCH.     8vo. 
By  ROBERT  SOUTHEY. 

• 

XXVIII. 

A  SEVENTH  EDITION  of  CURIOSITIES  of  LITERATURE. 

Materially  revised,  in  5  vols,  post  8vo. ;  with  Four  additional  volumes. 

By  J.  D'ISRAELT. 


XXIX. 

THE  LITERARY  CHARACTER. 

Illustrated  by  the  History  of  MEN  of  GENIUS,  drawn  from  their  own 

Feelings  and  Confessions. 

Third  Edition,  enlarged  and  improved.    2  vols,  post  8vo. 

It  may  be  necessary  to  observe  that  the  present  Third  Edition,  materially' differs  from 
the  preceding  ones.  The  greater  part  may  be  considered  as  entirely  new ;  the  principles  are 
more  fully  developed,  the  illustrations  are  more  numerous,  and  several  new  topics  connected 
with  the  main  subject,  have  been  introduced. 

XXX. 

SERMONS, 
Chiefly  delivered  in  the  Chapel  of  the  East  India  College,  Hertfordshire. 

One  volume,  Svo. 

By  the  REV.  CHARLES  WEBB  LE  BAS,  A.  M. 

Professor  of  Mathematics  at  the  E.  I.  College,  and  late  Fellow   of 
Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 


PREPARING  FOR  PUBLICATION. 


XXXI. 

HISTORY  of  the  MODES  of  BELIEF, 
Usually  termed  THE  SUPERSTITIONS  OF  THE  MIDDLE  AGES. 

With  curious  Plates,  4to. 

XXXII. 

CHINESE  NOVELS  J  viz.  The  SHADOW  iu  the  WATER  ; 

The  TWIN  SISTERS. 

To  which  are  added, 

PROVERBS  and  MORAL  MAXIMS, 

Collected  from  their  Classical  Books  and  other  Sources.    The  whole  prefaced 
by  Observations  on  the  Language  and  Literature  of  China.  3  vols.  fc.  Svo. 

Translated  from  the  Chinese, 

By  JOHN    FRANCIS   DAVIS, 

Of  the  East  India   Company's  Civil  Service. 

XXXIII. 

MISCELLANEOUS  NOTICES  relating  to  CHINA, 
And  our  Commercial  Intercourse  with  that  Country,  including  a  few  Trans- 
lations from  the  Chinese  Language.     Svo. 

1.  A  Portion  of  the  Emperor  Fowg-^c/uw^f  Book  of  Sacred  Instructions.— 2.  A  popular 
Game  among  the  Chinese,  called  Tsoey-moey.—Z.  Extract  from  a  Chinese  Work,  calle<i 
Tong-wha-loo. — 4.  On  the  Chinese  Language  and  Poetry.— 5.  Of  Chinese  Books.- 6.  Certain 
Rites  and  Ceremonies  of  the  Chinese. — 7.  Catholic  Missions  in  China. — 8.  Chinese  Account 
of  the  Settlement  of  Macao.— 9.  Chinese  Dispatch  sent  to  Russia,  21st  Jan.  1789.— 10.  Con- 
tents of  a  Chinese  and  Mantchoo-Tartar  Dictionary.— 11.  The  Pleasing  History,  a  Translation 
of  a  Chinese  Novel.— 12.  Chinese  Language  and  Character.— 13.  Of  Chinese  Books.— 14.  Re- 
naudot's  Ancient  Accounts  of  India  and  China.— 15.  Amiot's  Translation  of  Kien-loa^s  Eloge 
de  Mougden,  a  Poem.— 16.  Note  upon  the  Chinese  Court  Ceremony  of  the  Ko-tou.— 17.  Con- 
siderations on  the  China  Trade,  with  Notes.- 18.  Additions  to  Considerations  on  the  China 
Trade.— 19.  Note  on  the  British  Factory  in  China  and  the  late  Embassy.— 20.  Carrying 
Trade  between  the  Port  of  Canton  and  the  Continent  of  Europe. 

By  Sir  GEORGE  THOMAS  STAUNTON,  Bart. 
LL.D.  and  F.R.S. 


An  ABRIDGMENT  of  MATTHI^E'S  GREEK  GRAMMAR, 

For  the  use  of  Schools.    12mo.    Edited 

By  the  Reverend  C.  J.  BLOMFIELD,  D.  D. 


'V 


PREPARING  FOR  PUBLICATION. 


XXXV. 

A  SYSTEM  of  MECHANICAL  PHILOSOPHY, 
By  the  late  JOHN  ROBISON,  LL.D., 

Profesflor  of  Natural  Philosophy  in  the  University,  and  Secretary  to  the  Royal 

Society,  of  Edinburgh. 

With  Notes  and  Illustrations,  comprising  the  most  recent  Discoveries  in 

the  Physical  Sciences.    4  vols.  8vo,  with  numerous  Plates. 

By  DAVID  BREWSTER,  LL.D.,  F.R.S.E. 

A  copious  Article  on  the  History  and  Operations  of  the  Steam  Engine  has  been 
completely  revised  by  the  late  James  Watt,  Esq.  and  his  Son,  of  Soho;  who  have  also 
made  many  additions;  so  that  it  is  now  become  the  only  account  which  can  be  relied  upon. 
This  subject  is  illustrated  with  eight  large  and  original  Engravings. 

XXXVI. 

MEMOIR  of  the  OPERATIONS  of  the  ALLIED  ARMIES 
under  Prince  Schwartzenberg  and  Marshal  Blucher,  during  the  latter 

end  of  1813  and  the  year  1814.    8vo. 
By  the  Author  of  the  "  Memoirs  of  the  Early  Campaigns  of  the 

Duke  of  Wellington." 


XXXVIl. 

The  LIFE  of  OLIVER  CROMWELL. 
By  ROBERT  SOUTHEY. 


Svo. 


XXXVllI. 
MUSEUM  CRITICUM ;  or  CAMBRIDGE  CLASSICAL 
RESEARCHES.      No.  VII.  Svo.  5s. 

Contents-.— I.  Letters  on  the  Rosetta  Inscription.— II.  The  Fragments  of  Sophron.— 
III.  An  unpublished  Work  of  Alexander,  a  Greek  Physician,  on  Fevers.~IV.  Specimens  of 
Greek  Inscriptions.-V.  The  Chalybes  of  Xenophon— VI.  The  Caryatides  of  Ancient  Archi- 
tecture—VII.  Bentley's  Letter  to  Barnes.-VIII.  Bentley's  Corresprndence  with  Kusfer.— 
IX.  Description  and  Collation  of  a  MS.  of  the  Agamemnon  of  ^Eschylus  at  Naples.— X  On 
the  Dramatic  Representations  of  the  Greeks,  Part  the  Third.-Xl.  Supposed  Plagiarisms  - 
Mr.  G.  Burges.-XII.  E.  H.  Barker,  O.  T.  N.-XIII.  Statements  of  Professor  Playfair 
rcspectmg  the  University  of  Cambridge,  examined.-XIV.  Memoir  of  the  Rev.  Edward* 
Valentine  Blomfield,  M.  A.— XV.  Literary  Intelligence. 

XXXIX. 

A  VIEW  of  the  HISTORY  and  ACTUAL  STATE  of  the 
MILITARY  FORCE  of  GREAT  BRITAIN. 
By  CHARLES  DUPIN. 

Member  of  the  Royal  Institute  of  France  ;  Field  Officer  in  the  Corps  of  Marine  Engineers; 

Member  of  the  Legion  of  Honour,  ^c,  ^c,  4c. 
Translated,  with  Notes,  by  an  OFFICER.    2  vols.  Svo. 


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